Baby, The Rain Must Fall

Even the bird songs drip.

The rain, ceaselessly saturates the ground, the air, my thoughts.

There is no sunshine, no wind, just wet.

Can you imagine forty days and nights?

What is gopher wood anyway?

And what is a cubit?

The sun is waiting,  like me

for a better day,

for a bluer sky,

fly away.

Herb Ratliff, January 27, 2012, All Rights Reserved