The rain:
it threats,
it dots. . .

it droughts. . .

it raises hopes
and fears
and doubts. . .

Sometimes it overflows
and floods
in spots. . .

It blows,
it pours,
it comes in spades
or scattered showers,

It feeds us,

and, at times, it’s pooled–
then rises so–
to such great depths,
it has waylaid us.

But let us
+++++ keep on with the plans
+++++ that we and destiny
+++++ have made us,

+++++ resist the urge
++++++++++to let it put us in a tizzy,
++++++++++regardless of whatever mood
++++++++++may be in you or me (or us),
++++++++++or let its looming indecision
++++++++++distract us much,
++++++++++for we’ve much vital work to do,
++++++++++and had best not get too lazy. . .

Let’s pray to God
that, in due season,
rain will come
in good proportion,
if not in a flow
entirely even,
in one that brings us
quite enough
so we can feel
that all of us
can amply drink and cook and wash,
when we in peace agree to share
the water come to bless us all,
with lavish love
spanned Universal,

the life it gives
(and we receive)
as free-sent gift,
is a thing for which
we can’t completely know
the real source
or rhyme or reason.

This entry was posted in Autumn, Poetic Musing (Longer Poems), Poetry, Seasons, Winter and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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