A Small Respite Poem by Smoky Hoss

I stand alone,
feeling the pouring rain,
tilt my old hat
and lean on my crooked cane -

I can only hope
there's a break in the storm,
respite for
the weary and worn -

God's tears with mine mingle,
falling down my hollow cheek,
while thunder echoes holy rumblings
I fear to speak -

A voice out of the past ask:
'Tell it true,
what kind of man, now
are you? ' -

In trepidation I search my heart
and canvas my mind,
even glance into my soul, and still
no definitive answer do I find -

Then the Wind
comes to speak,
saying; 'I listen,
to the lowly and the meek.' -

I continue on in the falling rain,
listening for awhile,
no other answers come, but at least now
I see the sun peak, and smile -