At dawn, when I awoke, the rain
was but a mist that damped the lawn;
and then its whitewash strength increased
to rinse the night, ’til it was gone.
Its purpose served, it too then waned,
as greys began to blue
and dried the puddles left behind
to just a drop or two.
Yet on the breeze I taste it still —
its cool and fragrant kiss,
that lingers in the morning air;
good days begin like this.
The wrens, at first asleep, or shy,
now venture from their shade
and low, take up their favorite tune
and start to promenade.
07 DEC 2004
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