In the heat of summer as afternoon
wears on as octogenarians care for
their flower gardens & sprinklers jet
across expanses of lawn the water
level in the water tower of each
little town slowly goes down
So much of what I’ve been given
slips through my fingers evaporates
into open air goes down the drain
So much sweat so many tears
over lesser desires I’ve aspired to
have weighted my prayers for years
with disgruntled self-tickling sighs
over what has come to nothing
Yahweh I pray now for rain
Photo by Anthony Lee on Unsplash
Love the way this poem falls down the page from a broad cast of water to the eventual intimacy of sweat and ensuing deep need. My soul agrees every time I read it.
“So much of what I’ve been given
slips through my fingers”
“Yahweh I pray now for rain”
As do I. Nodding. Bending a knee.
Thank you for this invitation . . .
That 4th stanza ! yes Lord I too pray for rain.
such poetry helps sprinkle drops of precious water on a parched and thirsty soul