It hasn’t rained in quite awhile,
But it is raining now;
The morning’s dark, and ominous,
And full of hate, somehow
There’s so much never written on
The hidden happening –
For justice and injustice are
Two words for the same thing –
But love is like the sacred rain,
And ardor like the wind,
They come when least suspected, and
Upon them hopes are pinned
Of anything like green that grows;
Of just the smallest bud —
For growth is messy,
Made of earth and water, mixed
In mud
Sigh..yea…messy thing..growth is…but, in the end..it’s probably worth it. I liked this poem 🙂
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