I'm Still Waiting... Poem by Mark Heathcote

Nothing is more refreshing than a rainstorm
with its fiery spring effervescences
it's as though you can hear a feather fall.

The air fizzes with a fresh drinkable breath
as if it were exhaled by the Almighty Himself
it fills languid sails; stirs a blackbird home.

The world is like a wet linen cloth steaming
dripping like a bent-over willow leaf
I remember waiting for my parents to return from work.

Pacing the garden thinking, I'm still waiting
when will you be back home, now I'm old
it's still the same long wait only to place unknown.