16

Among the Rains and Blasts

The sounds draw near.
The air turns cold.
Mother Dear,
You're growing old.
What's this I hear,
Our life is sold.
It's love they fear,
So vast and bold.
The end is here.
Let them steal your gold.

And the rains pour from the bulging clouds.
And the clouds fog up my window.
And they creep over unsuspecting crowds
Who can't see this is the end, oh,
How do you show the ones who can't see?

Richard C. Hayner
1970 ©

© 2001 Middle Sea Studios - Richard C. Hayner - ALL RIGHTS RESERVED