Skirts of Rain

I am skirts of rain on weeping willows old;
patter perfect music’s skipping pianist hand,
a painted sunbeam in the master’s memory of gold
washing clean this cracked and brittle land.

Patter perfect music’s skipping pianist hand…
I conduct of draping leaves a dance of grace;
washing clean this cracked and brittle land,
mirror to the clouded pearl of sky’s embrace.

I conduct of draping leaves a dance of grace.
Her silvered flowing scarves are silken art,
mirror to the clouded pearl of sky’s embrace
soothing thirsted soil and sun-dried heart.

Her silvered flowing scarves are silken art -
a painted sunbeam in the master’s memory of gold.
Soothing thirsted soil and sun-dried heart,
I am skirts of rain on weeping willows old.

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