The rain from the night of last
Has left behind puddle, muddy and wet.
Collected rain, on leaves above
Falls down from the hands of the trees.
Droplets ripple the water,
Reminiscent of the frogs of warmer weather.

I'll walk a little further on down this path.

The colors are of an unfamiliar green,
With a red and a yellow and an orange mixture.
Branches, bare, sway in the air
And the wind howls through them.
The hollow forest sings its song,
Summer is dieing.
Winter will soon take its turn,
Giving way to cold and wonder of the white world.

I'll walk to the end of this path,
To the view down the valley below.

There is not a cloud there,
When i gaze to the town.
But around, above, my head
There is a grayness that surrounds.
Water quietly falling,
Until the wind whips my face,
Cutting with rain:
Making it feel cold,
Cold as if it were snow.

I'll still look upon this place far away,
This place still green with summer
I'll be content in my palace of ice.

Look there's a rainbow,
It links this land and that.
Would you like to share
In this glorious scene?

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Copyright©2017-1999 by Rebecca R. Hammack

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