On the porch, it's ten forty eight pm:
It's been a long day, I went a few rounds;
Dogs are inside, I can settle down.
There's a storm over the valley:
I count for thunder, in the dark;
Slowly getting closer, but hard to define where it starts, and stops.
The deep grumble gones on for ten seconds, fading in to a crescendo, than fading out.
Definitely a baritone.
All is still: except for one critter, keeping time; like clockwork on the half second.
Lighting lights the sky: it's only ten seconds away;
Somewhere, hopefully not here!
The tree's might sway?
The earth is thirsty, its been a dry season, I go with the flow, think there must be a reason?
We had a couple of inches last week: maybe not enough to close the oyster industry, but enough for me to pull the weeds, and leave what was left of the herbs.
I'm a lazy gardener, but for a few years now my crops been incredible!
This year has been to dry for anything to sprout: the rain is increasing; maybe he is breaking my drought?
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Author:
Valiantstar (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: January 14th, 2025 07:36
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 21
- Users favorite of this poem: Demar Desu - 德马尔·德苏, Cheeky Missy
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Comments3
A drought breaking outpouring would be divine! Although the timing isn’t mine 👍🏻🙏🏻🕊️
Ain't that the truth!
Streuth!
Excellent write
Very good writing.It transported me to the farm with that great dependency on Rainfall.Excellent
Thank you. I tapped it out last night. We were saved from any deluge, but the rain is life-giving.
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