Rain Whispers

Low-lying duvet of grey clouds hover like a damp gray hat hopping over heads Soon a promise of rain whispers and spreads on parched gardens waiting like a lover. Smears of rain will dim the air taunting leaves their whispers dilute the rhythmic tapping of rain pellets on rooftop eaves crashing, melting to nothing as earth dreams and grieves. On the dreaming surface of the river rain whispers false promises to the wind that the tides of night forgive those who sinned on their shores, and moon glow will turn silver. Darkness encroaches as the faintest chill sneaks in, rain whispers to a fading pain, “Wait till morn, it’s time to be grass again, to be wild, grow green, your cup of dreams fill.” Jjote 013121