The Rain
There’s nothing like a rainy day
To chase a farmer’s blues away.
The grey clouds rolling from the east
Like rising foam of swirling yeast
From o’er the distant ocean fled,
To save the grain, to make the bread;
As over hills the sweeping clouds
Rise heavenward like lifted shrouds
And there’s no force that can enchain
Their precious store – so falls the rain;
As misty curtains moist and clean
Are drawn across a dusty scene
And falling down in silver sheets
The parched and grateful earth it meets.
© Dennis N. O'Brien, 2012
The Rain
-
- Posts: 6946
- Joined: Sun Oct 31, 2010 12:08 pm
- Location: Here
Re: The Rain
That's a bit of a wistful sonnet of nostalgia for us here in the Hunter Valley, we haven't had rain since July.
Neville
" Prose is description, poetry is presence " Les Murray.
" Prose is description, poetry is presence " Les Murray.