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SABBATH SHOWER

With grins of green, everything
relaxes. Even the brown
patches lounging on the south

slopes privately bathing in a slow
gray rain up and down an empty
canyon road – gentle strum upon

the roof, the soothing hymn.
Proof-enough-of miracles:
grass brought back to life.

Anything in the foothills
has already happened
if you look – if you can hear

the old men’s stories when
you were green, recall
extremes from yesteryear

they thrived on – ground grown
holy with grandfather oaks
a-grin again in the rain.

Posted by John Dofflemyer on May 5, 2007 6:16 AM |

Comments

John--I particularly like this poem. Very nice. Sharon

Posted by: Sharon S. O'Toole | May 5, 2007 5:26 PM

John:

Thanks for the poem on my birthday, 5/5/07. If only the city folks knew of the need for moisture as it is burned into our soul.

Tell Robin hello. If you ever come up Hwy 88 toward the foothills or Sierra I am a mile off the highway. Call please. 209-727-5005.

The best of the season to come,
Linda

Posted by: Linda Fields Stiehr | May 11, 2007 10:11 AM

Happy Birthday Linda!!

The 5th was also my Aunt's 90th birthday. Thanks for checkin in.

Posted by: John Dofflemyer | May 11, 2007 12:30 PM

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