Rain

Stampeding listless, lonely crowds afoot
and falling; each a spoken word forgot.
These words in time, a sentence form, and put
together poems of death, and life begot.

Before our ears, these sonnets turn to song,
unheard upon the fields' a-frost with dew.
In Winter's silent morn and Summer long,
the rain remembers, when and how- and who.

O blessed rain, what joy? What loss? What old
and sorrow's seen? Our Father's birth, the star
the child; Mary's weeping, myrrh and gold-
O ageless rain, the nails, His hands, His Scars.

I long to glimpse, the sights the crowd recall's-
As wise the curtain, cold and crying falls.