Where would we be without the rain?
Drip, drop, split, splat
mist as fine as angle dust.
The torrents, the pounding
the thunder, the roar.
The gentleness, the coolness
riding on a breeze.
Lifeblood of man, bird and beast.
Mother to the flowers, fragrant and sweet.
Father to the oceans, rivers and streams.
Heart to the fields, grass strong and tall.
Spirit to the soil, dark, damp and fertile.
Poetry & Art by Patricia Walter 1999 ©