Like Cleansing Rain
Such contemplating that the poets do.
They sing of God, our spirits to renew.
With Mother Nature often they’re in tune
And offer up their verse to sun and moon.
They praise the sunset over a blue lake
While pondering man’s purpose, and they ache. . .
They ache for all that earth can never be,
For dreams they’ve lost, and for humanity.
And when they ache, their words are filled with pain
Which pour out from their soul like cleansing rain!
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