Rain/Poem/Bette Wolf Duncan

Rain

The wind in the elms

spoke of rain in the sky.

Like the elm trees, I knew

that the winds sometime lie.

The corn stalks were withering.

The soil was bone dry;

and I prayed, how I prayed,

that the wind didn’t lie.

Bills were too many

and assets too few;

and I knew that the mortgage

was long overdue.

The wind in the meadow

swept o’er the dried grass:

and taunted me, whispering

the drought would soon pass.

This ranching’s a struggle.

There’s some years you win

and some years you take

many blows on the chin….

and there’s sometimes a time

when you’re knocked to the floor,

and you lay there in pain

and can’t rise anymore.

The cattle were languid.

The water holes, dried.

I prayed, how I prayed,

that the wind hadn’t lied.

The bankers were calling.

“Foreclosure!” they said;

and I faced each day

with a heart filled with dread.

Of a sudden I heard it—

the sweetest, dear sounds—

raindrops a slapping the roof, all around...

sweeter than any sounds heard before!

My mortgage payment

was rapping the door.

© 2010, Bette Wolf Duncan

This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's permission.