Spring’s First Rains
The rain weeps from the sky,
Plummeting to the ground,
Filling the monotone atmosphere,
And so is the sound.
The puddles appear,
The reflections are rippled,
The gray sky stirs the soul,
And changes the mind that was once crippled.
And the flowers begin to grow,
Appear from the ground and form buds,
The trees revive from their solace of slumber,
The awakening rain comes down in floods.
Song birds return,
The music of renewed change,
Amidst the mountains and horizon’s front,
Peace grows as if a flower is seeing the sun in its range.
The ground is soft beneath our bare feet,
The breaths we take are soft,
As if our souls are the flocks of birds above,
We lift our faces to the sky aloft.
The air turns still,
The rain settles to the soil,
The midst rises to the tree tops,
We keep this moment silent so we don’t spoil.
Of the smallest blooms,
Of the highest hills,
Held in these Hands,
The joy from my heart spills.
-Angela R. Watts