Glass in-hand,
we toast the dark morning’s
thunder and lightning
to the afternoon rumble
of another trace
from gray skies.
We have grown older
waiting—wishing, hoping,
praying to any god to hear—
for this time of year
when it might rain.
Glass in-hand,
we toast the dark morning’s
thunder and lightning
to the afternoon rumble
of another trace
from gray skies.
We have grown older
waiting—wishing, hoping,
praying to any god to hear—
for this time of year
when it might rain.