the thunderheads have moved in
cotton candy mountains empty their canyons
an inch of water falls in twenty minutes
the fire season is a memory
not even the faintest curl of smoke rises
the scorched palmetto prairie awakens
the scrub jay has returned
the indigo snake is out of hiding
the green frogs sing their appreciation
grassy fingers reach for the sky
ponding water lingers on streets and lawns
people gather their stacks of books
the choices are heat or thunder storms
the choices are to read or to write
the poets watch as words flow from raindrops
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
What a wonderfully brilliant write, Barry. Kudo's to you!