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Thread: The Rain

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    The Rain

    The silent rain falls gently by my window feeding, earth spreading
    Moist across the meadow’s face.

    Both tree and flower drink the silver liquid with avaricious thirst
    The life that lifts their limbs toward heaven’s grace.

    This rock called Earth, was meant for man, yet covered by the soil
    Whose fare and moisture feeds the living soul.

    This energy of the breathing being so varied among the creatures
    That live and rise from the shower of the archer

    Whose arrows penetrate the clouds that pour down shower
    And feed the life so thirsty for its power.

    I love to hear the sound of falling rain. Just outside my window pane.
    I know that here and there, this damp and soaking.bit of shower

    Will tend the life I prize; man, beast and flower.
    Through all the toil they may encounter

    Bill Hammersley



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