We pray for it to bring relief –
when it comes in thief-like
in the middle of the night,
stealing odds and ends of
peace of mind the anguished
bleats of discontent are heard
to echo loud and long. I listen
to the trees, silence is a proud
consent, bright in promises
and strong assent this rain
relieves their pressing needs.
The herd that gathers in the
Gympie trees and mud around
arenas where the Muster wallows
sees a different scene; their music
falters in the rain, their feet are
mired in different earth but trees
breathe easy just the same...
© 24 August 2007, I.D. Carswell
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