Like Rain

She comes to me like rain to a desert:
Rarely. In her wake, the flowers all
Blossom. Desolation ceases to be,
But she leaves so suddenly as she
Arrives, and she's absent for years.
The blossoms soon die, and the desert
Itself, once again without life,
Starts to wonder if she really came.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 60 times
Written on 2017-10-29 at 21:40

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