A Soft Rain Falls

(in celebration of poetry)

A whispered rain
drifts down and through me.
On a land that is given to extremes,
flood and drought
and raging conflagration,
this gentle mist is a celebration
that settles softly without clenched fist
or wracking sobs, no armament
or artillery, and yet, eventually
it will change the face of stone.

 

 

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