The rain draws circles on the lane
And mirrors in each dip
And on the south-faced window-pane
A hundred rivers slip
The rain pools in each petal-cup
It cools the limpid leaf
And kisses every face turned up
To savor its relief
Its runnels snake through sun-baked clay
And sings with splashing mirth
A precious heaven-rendered lay
To quench the thirst of earth
The rain threads beads of liquid glass
Like a rare string of pearls
And all along the garden path
Flowers giggle like girls
© Janet Martin
Thunder mumbles in the distance, the cracking apart of
elements we had earlier has passed, the driving sheets of rain easing to a
comforting song that says s-h-h-h-h beneath traffic and kisses thirsty
gardens.
We’ve been elbow-deep into beans among other things but they
will have to wait until the rain tapers off to be picked.
