Can you think of anything that tops the swell of the sound of rain ending a long, dry spell?
We are powerless to probe the place that holds these hymns of hope and grace!
...all we can do is wait,
and wish with whispered faith.
The air is charged with large eighth-notes
They slip across soft, green-leafed Things
Composing velvet vibratos
With flower-bower and street-strings
Our posts of duty, toil commands
But now we duck beneath its rod
To patio and porch grandstands
To enjoy musicales from God
First high, then low, its ebb and flow
Tames dust-tempests and bathes the earth
My, my, how heaven’s concerto
Fills both nature and man with mirth
This Opus is a free-for-all
No price can buy the sky-refrain
Of diamond-studded madrigals
Falling in songs of summer rain
© Janet Martin
