The pounding of raindrops, a welcomed intrusion
To the silence of mornings I spend,
Routine reflections, Simplicity's profusion,
Continuum of days without end.
Cacophonic, rhythmic, insistent, pervasive
As if tumultuous hammering
Should summon, from death the silently evasive,
To life, with wild enough clamoring.
Poorly lit, hot or cold, attics are cramped lodgments;
If the center of life's poor choices,
Nature entertains with vivid acknowledgements,
Its fortes have four octave voices!
The simple speaks loudest coming from the mundane,
Its wisdom He insists shall be heard,
Messages from above inherent in the rain
Or the chirps of a tiny songbird.
copyright 1998, The Goober Tree Press, all rights reserved