THE GOD OF RAIN
Rain is as common
To our world
As the sun
That rises
Each morning
Yet, sometimes
Many days, months…
Even years pass
Rain doesn’t come
Clouds form on the horizon
The sky a lovely shade of grey
The day passes
As dry as bleached bones
Laying on the desert flour
The First people
Have ceremonies
To bring rain
They sing and dance
Shake their rattles and prey
Rain makes everything
An adventure
Cross the street
On slippery pavement
Jumping puddles
Meeting a lover
Cozy inside
Safe and warm
Knowing the God of Rain
Has cried for his people
June 7, 2018
3 comments:
I love the references to the First People in this poem. I can feel the dryness, like bleached bones in the desert, and then the blessing of rain.
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