It has rained very little here this summer. A few nights ago, I was lying in bed unable to sleep because of a nasty cold. But in the wee morning hours, I was given the blessing of a rain storm.
head to pillow
drifting in and out.
Back behind the hills
I hear a rumble
low and deep.
Hope leaps in my heart.
It could be rain,
finally.
My begonias, are wilted,
my petunias dead
my grass strawlike.
The air smells of dust.
The trees have no song.
No breeze has come
to play them.
My ears perk,
I raise my head
roll has joined rumble
and I know
it is thunder.
Louder it gallops
across the sky
over the hills and down
into the parched valley
where I lie.
Yes, it could be rain,
finally.
Outside my window
I hear the leaves
tuning up.
A light swishing
like a padded rattle.
And then in an instant,
in broad strokes
the wind
sweeps across the leaves
turning them from green to white
and branches bend
and limbs strain
to stay connected.
A crackle, then boom,
then a rushing pour.
The levee in Heaven
has breached.
A new smell fills the air
of a world
being washed and refreshed.
I snuggle further
into my pillow,
lullaby coming from above me.
Yes, it is rain,
finally.
Poetry by Phyllis J. Rhodes
Read 485 times
Written on 2008-08-31 at 20:16
Save as a bookmark (requires login)
Write a comment (requires login)
Send as email (requires login)
Print text
Rain Finally
I lie in bed half asleephead to pillow
drifting in and out.
Back behind the hills
I hear a rumble
low and deep.
Hope leaps in my heart.
It could be rain,
finally.
My begonias, are wilted,
my petunias dead
my grass strawlike.
The air smells of dust.
The trees have no song.
No breeze has come
to play them.
My ears perk,
I raise my head
roll has joined rumble
and I know
it is thunder.
Louder it gallops
across the sky
over the hills and down
into the parched valley
where I lie.
Yes, it could be rain,
finally.
Outside my window
I hear the leaves
tuning up.
A light swishing
like a padded rattle.
And then in an instant,
in broad strokes
the wind
sweeps across the leaves
turning them from green to white
and branches bend
and limbs strain
to stay connected.
A crackle, then boom,
then a rushing pour.
The levee in Heaven
has breached.
A new smell fills the air
of a world
being washed and refreshed.
I snuggle further
into my pillow,
lullaby coming from above me.
Yes, it is rain,
finally.
Poetry by Phyllis J. Rhodes
Read 485 times
Written on 2008-08-31 at 20:16
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email (requires login) Print text
|
Kathy Lockhart |
| Texts |
 by Phyllis J. Rhodes Latest textsWhateverStress Naughty Limerick He's Been Leaving Decisions, Decisions |
Increase font
Decrease