Morning Poem, May 21, 2015

The Quiet Rain


I opened the window to the morning

And heard the rain.

Slow, steady, barely audible

The crisp tapping of raindrops on the new leaves.

Like the slow tickings of a thousand distant clocks.


The green world was washed

And given drink

And softly received the continuing fall

Like footsteps on moss.


How much was hidden

In the cool half light

In the wet leaves and grass?


Is the chemistry of life

Rekindled by such a combination

Of shadow and water?

What miracles are wrought

In the tiny places

Hidden in the quiet rain?


Copyright 2015

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1 Response to Morning Poem, May 21, 2015

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