Stopping In The Rain Poem by Quentin Kirk

Stopping in the Rain
for Marie-Eve Leclere and her mission

Winding roads, giant mountains,
each a rainy season, blue-green.
Weeds flowering so modestly, so proudly,
spots of tiny villages.

With moving beautiful brown people
each with some, for the moment,
plan in mind.
Indian children stared
but did not
beg.

Beyond moving poetry of high piled clouds;
a small home-built church clothed in dignity;
beyond stoop workers who straightened to watch us pass;
slowly past cows and sheep on the roadway;
we stopped.
We stood still,
under an ancient tree
to watch,
to watch what I had not seen for many years,
children playing in the rain.