Tasting the Warmest Rain
Spring, as always, has mild days of sun and clouds,
and in between, it sends down the thinniest rain seemingly blue;
I'm blessed to taste it as it runs down the mounds,
below the hazy town seems empty almost vanishing fron view.
The further I go down, the closer I see the unrhythmic streets:
people walk as ghosts wearing broody faces as they hold umbrellas made for giants;
there's the highway that'll take me home, where snow alters landscapes and sounds,
but tasting the warmest rain compliments me for the lack of cheers.
Several thirty-story skyscrapers will block the sun from shining free,
this southern town, hidden among mountains, has known poverty;
the unemployed and young want jobs despite change and monotony;
they, too will taste the warmest rain and will dream of an age of prosperity.
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