Skirts of Rain

I am skirts of rain on weeping willows old;
patter perfect music’s skipping pianist hand,
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 -
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.

© Copyright 2003 winklett (winklett at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.

Writing.Com, its affiliates and syndicates have been granted non-exclusive rights to display this work.