The Same Sky
We needed the rain.Spring has been a scorcher,
the little grass remaining
withered to brown,
puddles of red mud,
an archipelago
in an ocean of clover.
Rain will mean
more grass to cut,
more weeds to pull.
One hundred miles west
a field of raspberries sinks,
an Atlantis of deliciousness.
Rain gives and takes
with equal indifference.
Poetry by Melinda K Zarate
Read 6 times
Written on 2026-05-26 at 16:08
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