Ella Goodman


I woke to the sounds of morning rain
Falling over my window pane.
Waking to the sounds of roaring clouds,
That shuddered all earth, trees in clout,
Though white blurred the rains, all near or far sight,
I felt the bliss of morning's delight.

Like marching troops so full of zest,
Crystal drops reigned the crest.
Smoky morn drapped in white drapes,
Chilled the breeze breathe pure and fresh.
Molten earth regaled in glee,
When pristine drops blew on thee.

It was a morn of chaste mystic feel,
Like a monk in deep meditative zeal,
As if his prayer bore the fruit,
Of sweet salvation pouring all surrounding cool.
Pious day born to glow,
In soft embrace of rain drops sow.

Submitted: Wednesday, July 02, 2014
Edited: Wednesday, July 02, 2014

Topic of this poem: nature

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