by Graham Hayward


This poem came to me one day in Northfield mass. in the early spring one year.

The rain came,

and through the sky it fell.

It made mud cradles, filled fish homes,

and found a farmer's smile.

Water opened,and worsted wills healed,

the silver beads found green corn,

while she washed in a brown cherry bucket.

The last of his love, was drawn by soft sponge.

The locusts made quiet,

and the thunder's wind pushed.

Thin air grew cool,

as low clouds grew muscle.

Sunlight was there, in the wake of the rain,

and, as the river rose one mighty inch,

her water touched new soil.

An egg, was found,

and you were born.

G.J.H 2004

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