And when the prairie summer
that is your soul
shall go dry in a long dry afternoon,
call Rain.
Call, and she will come
like a wrensong across an evening field
and sit with you awhile.
She'll skip then back to friends and swings
and you'll turn from the window
and there, heart there,
delight of a meadow after fresh rain,
delight of a sky, rainbow bitten.
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| - public domain - |
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