Rainsong On Sunday Morn
There’s rainsong on Sunday morn.
The herald of Springtime reciting.
A chorus of wings in the changeover.
Unrelenting litany of praise from fowl.
Nature, humble and knowing, cheeps
loud and not silent, healing with peace.
Chirping, stirring, Winter to be released.
Forget the shadow of groundhog, lean
into the melody of a wet ground, awaiting
the plow and seeds, daffodils and hot sun.
Sing O earth, be rattled by resurrection.
What the robins and blue jays know.
What common man, with hope not despair,
hands opening the book where bonnie notes
ebb and flow on fiery tongues, in air, shared
on this very late Winter, a Sunday morn.
2/27/2022
Copyright © Kim Rodrigues | Year Posted 2022
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