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
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