Saturday, May 14, 2016

The Rainy Wiles

I pray I beg for the rain to come
To come to give life to the land
To nourish my crop in the farm
The taps to have water on hand

The rain comes down quite mad
With storm and thunder it speeds
Peevishly turning the land to mud
Nourishing both crops and weeds

It finds me and I sprint for cover
I flee fast from the pounding rain
But in the mud my foot trips over
In the mire my tidiness is made vain

Angry with the rain I stand up again
I walk now quietly cursing the rain
How dare my pride rain should drain
And in its sacred place leave pain