In high and dry Colorado, the rain is welcomed.
|When it rains
Gone the rays of sun and moon.
All grey, the mountains hide.
Pores that crave the moist of mist,
with parched cracked lips sob thanks.
Gone the blue of death,
that baked the earth a golden brown,
crisped what once gave life.
So few the bugs, the bees, the birds.
Humans hide behind, beneath concrete,
clad by brown baked brick,
now washed by rain and scrubbed by hail.
On this cold midsummer's day:
open arms, give thanks.
19 juni 2004
Catalogue number: [161.272]