Like Morning’s Rain

I sit aside the early morning’s rain;

It is too beautiful for sleep. Each grain

Of lightly fallen clouds makes more than just

A single sound when stopped. The thirsty lust

That drier days have seen is gone. There’s gladness

So sweetly wafting in, through grey skies’ sadness.

 

And in this beauty there’s a kind of sadness:

As always shown in every kind of rain.

Appreciating it, I’ve found a gladness

Akin to poorest men who find some grain,

Devour it. This mourning-song of lust

Would do so well to make all men adjust

 

Their minds—why fear the rain? It’s only just

That there’ll be space to free celestial sadness.

And frogs and toads will drink that watery lust

As fits their kind, to spawn droplets like rain.

To flood the fields of hotly yearning grain,

Is seeing farmers’ overwhelming gladness.

 

This I rest here. I contemplate the gladness

I am bestowed—what magic, and how just

It seems! that I now feed from sacred grain

Of joy. With one who’s mine we repel sadness;

And shuddering, we prance and play in rain.

If Time is kind, then this sweet dream of lust

 

So innocent won’t fade. My mind’s on lust

That one such other soul will share such gladness

Has finally been sated. I ask the rain

To take me words across—a message just

For one that makes my nights so free of sadness;

For one who bravely flies against the grain.

 

And so I watch this early morning’s grain,

Heart brimming with such happiness (at last!)

I pray my life will no more contain sadness;

Replacing it will be most welcome gladness…

That somewhen Time will let me enjoy just

A simple love, offered like morning’s rain.

 

This sadness flees, and I embrace the gladness

That I have lusted for. And love is just

Our souls ingrained in skies of our hearts’ terrain.

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