Rain
The golden sun is garish
On the white wall of the day.
I close my eyes against it
For a vision cool and gray.
Gray-fissured and gray-skirted,
She sweeps across the plain
And wraps me in her softness—
O Rain, my mother Rain!
On the white wall of the day.
I close my eyes against it
For a vision cool and gray.
Gray-fissured and gray-skirted,
She sweeps across the plain
And wraps me in her softness—
O Rain, my mother Rain!
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