Oh! What a long storm has travailed here,
With only a short lull or two.
That rainbow which we presume is near?
Is a thunder's span length from view.
Who called the clouds and who rose the mist?
Did memory beckon again?
Green grass that once surely did exist,
Has since died between now and then.
The trees are so very tired now,
And their limbs can hold no more weight,
And for them and I and you, I fear,
That the rainbow is much too late.