Gusts of wind blast
the drops into a spray.
The waters rise.
This might be the day
that the streets
are all washed clean
and we know (though we have never asked)
what all the prophets mean.
But then, the air is warm and
there is promise in the rain,
the drooping branches,
the myopic window pane.
The flattened winter pansies
are paint daubed on the ground.
The rains stops abruptly.
For a moment no sound
but a siren in the distance .
The city catches fire.
The clouds have scudded south.
The smoke is rising higher.
Don Tiedemann's Other Poems
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Comments about this poem (Hard Rain by Don Tiedemann )
- Scarecrow, Naveed Khalid
- Beav Cleave - Lincoln Park Zoo, Ima Ryma
- Hotel, Randy Resh
- I SLEEP FOR A FEW DREAMS, M.D Dinesh Nair
- I SLEEP FOR A DREAMS, M.D Dinesh Nair
- The Modern Indian English Poetess, Bijay Kant Dubey
- My Soul, Richard Bretton
- A Single Sentence…, Doyen Lingua
- Enviable Death, Doyen Lingua
- Awake, Michael McParland
Poem of the Day
- The Road Not Taken, Robert Frost
- Daffodils, William Wordsworth
- Bluebird, Charles Bukowski
- Where The Mind Is Without Fear, Rabindranath Tagore
- A Fairy Song, William Shakespeare
- Annabel Lee, Edgar Allan Poe
- Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening, Robert Frost
- A Farewell, William Wordsworth
- Bright Star, John Keats
- Fire and Ice, Robert Frost
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(7 May 1861 – 7 August 1941)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
- Heather Burns
(3rd April 19sixty)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(31 October 1795 – 23 February 1821)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)