Poem for the Day

The Rain
It comes, it comes
Like distant drums…
Repeating their shrill, rhythmic patter
Beyond a great hill

It surges on forward
Unfazed by the air
Unmoved by the trees and grass
It moves without care

In dissonant harmonies with crickets,
It marches along
Bellowing their anthems and choruses
A mystery…is its song

The song soars skyward
The song flows over land
The song joins the rivers and streams
The song caresses your hand

It may soothe you into laboriously earned sleep
With its pittering and pattering voice of a muse
Or awaken you with fear, running so deep
With its crackling of the earth in glowing, white hues…

Regardless, nevertheless, notwithstanding,
It drives through the hills
As a serpent through the reeds, around every weed
With its rhythmic shrills

So come forth my love,
In my sleep or my pain
Come soothe or awake me,
My lovely, precious rain.


-Andy Burney