After the Thirst
The world was parchment, hard and sere,
A faded scroll of yesteryear,
Where once-green hopes lay thin and cracked,
And all the summer dreams were sacked
By winds that bore a dusted sigh
Beneath a wide and whitened sky.
The flowers, husks in barren beds,
Drooped low their dry, exhausted heads,
Their colors bleached to memory,
Their stems all bent in misery.
They dreamed in roots, down deep and blind,
Of something left, some pulse behind,
A whispered rumor in the stone…
Then came a new and tender tone.
A murmur, not of air, but weight,
A softening at the garden gate.
A single drop---a shattered diamond—
Upon the cheek of the despondent
Earth. Then two. Then suddenly,
A hushing, rushing harmony.
It was not loud, at first, but deep,
A promise that the dust would keep,
A slow unclenching of the air,
A baptism, everywhere.
The rain! It spoke on every leaf
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