When The Rains Come
By jvriesema
Mon, 13 Sep 2004
- 922 reads
When the rains come,
the wind will no longer throw spirals of dust at unsuspecting
passers-by-
-their Sunday hats thrown askew against rotted fence posts and
date-laden trees.
The horses will no longer stand idly under scraggly cypress trees
waiting for the clouds to come.
Shaking their manes, they will no longer try to escape the sound of
locusts singing amongst silver-grey leaves.
When the rains come,
people will once again tend to their gardens.
And the flowers will bloom along now dusty highways that stretch
forever into seemingly deserted towns.
When the rains come,
you will smile and whisper, "un dag"-
-your nordic hair catching the last glimmer of a raindrop.
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