The Rain Has Stopped.
No Drops Misting Over My Face
Forming Puddles At My Feet, And Yet
The Leaves Are Green.
Swaying, Shading, Bringing
Relief From Blistering Winds.
The Rain Has Ended.
Roots Are Drying, Branches Cracking,
Soon The Color Will Change To
Gold And Red, A Fire Blushing,
Burning Itself Dry And Brown,
Blowing Away Like There Will Be No Spring.
The Rain Is Finished.
Nothing Changes, And Still,
Nothing Is The Same