Why I Pray For Rain

A poem is a raindrop
sometimes falling from ominous skies,
settling on quiet mountaintops,
destined for misty rivers;

and when she is born,
she knows not of white water rapids,
or salted oceans, or winding paths,
or of the darkest nights
where shadows taint her skin.

Yet, she goes down the mountain,
an explorer in search of earthen beauty,
as she gives life to pleading plants,
with one eye to the sky,
never forgetting her origins.

We poets are sometimes unworthy of raindrops,
of their courage, the language they speak,
but if we listen,
in lakes, in pools, in cool rivers,
and rolling oceans,
the heavens knock and her voice sings true.

Copyright © 2018 – Brian Nettles. All Rights Reserved

Image Credit: Pixabay