Waiting For Deliverance - Poem by Thom Theisland
He could drain his ears until all he heard
Were the sounds of waters moaning past the trees,
And in the evening, clear as day,
The rushing tides curling up and falling.
He felt the crying tears of rain
That pelted the ground, arid and dry,
Prying all from which they lay,
Turning dust to tan dyed mud.
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