That solid rock
on which pearly
mountains grew
seemed ageless.

Like shifting tots
on playgrounds
more than anything
thrilled to finally fill
the bitter silence
speak to me again
with church bell
hush.

Applaud with clapping
wings of butterflies, but
where have all the fireflies
gone?

Little lanterns barging in
like riots begging
the whiskey night,
like riverbanks in
Kentucky.

Better than the blue
plain cornflower hill
that thanked Heaven
for it's tender wet kiss.

It's raining,
it's raining again
sings the dawn.