When the searing blue of Eastern skies
Day after day does not wane
And the cotton mounds of nimbus white
Refuse to release their rain
Red-rimmed eyes seek hard for storms
Storms of hope on canvassed skies
But no rain washes, and roots dig down
Deeper and down to where the lifeline lies
When on the horizon of my soul’s small world
The skies are bright with heat
No storms press piling with thunderous roar
Yet joy and dreams dare not meet
Thirsty I rove with rain hungry eyes
Seeking to break the long drought’s spell
But no rain comes and to live I must
Dig deeper and down in that Living Well.
insearchofabrook 