Crying of Opossums

If I was in charge of the heavens and stars I would make it so it could only rain at night When the sky is dark, anyway It is more efficient that way And the water would feed more plants rather than evaporate in sunlight The sound of the sheets hitting my window and roof would lull me to sleep And never again would I weep for a lost day outside Or for the memories of other sad days gray skies bring to my mind The slower tick of leftover drops hitting the ground from the gutter would signal sunrise I know the air must be washed and the grass must be watered from time to time But I could plan so much better if I could know the only drenching I’d get Would be no more than sweat, and all rainy days I could finally forget And if I was in charge of this place where we are The length of everyone’s time here would be the same Our wars would be relegated to the status of games For everyone would come back home regardless of losing a fight in a foreign land or an accident or some other unfortunate circumstance Unless they hit their hundredth birthday, in which case it would simply expire as planned. It would be so much easier, Lord, don’t you agree? “My child, you must understand that just as the rain washes the air you breathe So your eyes must get washed with a good dose of tears to appreciate the fleeting beauty of a day that may be lost but will return as the life you cannot count on to stay easy The sun may go away but will return; it is never gone – just shrouded in gray My point is that you are going to cry from time to time to wash out the film and specks of indifference to the deep blue sky of a shade you have not felt in your life If you did not cry for the lost day or lost life, you’d cry about other things you don’t like You’d cry of opossums, for instance, And if you are going to cry, I’ll give you a good reason!” I replied, “That may be, but I’d rather cry of opossums, You know!” Then in the wind I felt a sigh and rolling eyes, and I’m certain my request was noted.