It Was Raining Over Here
I spent my early life, living in the backyard oaks
And among the brittle branches I would go
To perches in my quiet world, a rustling refuge for
A mind distracted by most everything below
From my aerie, I could see the sunlight
Pouring gold between the clouds that drift along.
But it was raining over here, the moisture making
The soft smells of April go heady, sharp and strong.
Over there the sun goes dropping down in sheets
Rolling cross the roads, the fields, the woods, the brook,
Nice to see when rain was pounding on my head
A spectacle from which a little hope I always took.
I can't climb trees these days and so I walk the roads
Among the trees, looking up to airy realms for
consolation.
And I scout the flowers blooming on the berry vines below,
So when picking time arrives, I'll know the best
locations.
Pragmatic I've become and old, but without the time I
spent
High above the Earth when I was yet an undomesticated
child
I'd have never found the stillness of the soul I needed
To pause and notice roadside berries, blooming free and
wild.
© 2014 by Tom King
