The Rain
By Ruby Archer
He is coming the gentle Rain,
Riding his steed, the wind;
And over the dusty plain
Where grasses thirstily pined
Floats a sigh
“He is nigh!”
And the thunder grumbles his name
To the lightning’s questioning glance;
While the air, like a restless flame,
Quivers and glows and pants
With the cry
“He is nigh!”
Copyright © by the author.
SIGN UP NOW!
Sign up for our poetry club and we'll let you know whenever we launch a new event, competition or service!
Get On The List
SIGN UP NOW!
Sign up for our poetry club and we'll let you know whenever we launch a new event, competition or service!
Get On The List
