Three Reflections On Rain
THREE REFLECTIONS ON RAIN by Richard Harris
Rain patters on tent roofs.
In boots, through mud,
we crowd the stage for the last band’s
Then say goodbyes, and squelch away to homes
where our machines
wash out the dirt, while we sleep off
the vast excess
of the excitement, that had drawn us to the place
we won’t forget
in spite of the rain.
Now in the canopy, in summer’s green expectancy
each little leaf
turns smiling to the sun, not thinking how
the sap that streams
in every vein of hers came from the storm
lashed at her roots, but juicily rejoices now
in bud and bloom
because of the rain.
When in the night the stinging storm
that blinds the eyes
puts out our fire, runs coursing through
our little tent
of youth, and leaves us lone and cold –
and our life’s plan
dissolves and runs away, can that first fire
not ever be
rekindled? It can not.
But in the dawn’s
grey glimmerings, there grows a new
ways unthought of, strengths not known, to take
new hold on life
after the rain
This was written by a friend of mine. I asked him if I could post it here. He said I could. Thanks, Richard.