Gray rain at dawn,
colorless silhouettes of sycamores
filigreed, having lost half their leaves
to the Christmas gift of storms
after a month of fog—we pray
the world beyond will pause
for a breath, follow suit,
find a common sense of peace
like black dots of cattle
grazing ridgetops, chasing green
reaching for the heaven sent
miracle of rain.
drycrikjournal 
Lovely poem, John!
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