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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.

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