by Nii Parkes

These are the times
Of cold night winds,
Uneven skin,
And dust that clings

Infants are loath
To cry out loud.
Charmsmen despair
Of seeing a cloud.

The trees have placed
Dry leaf offerings
Upon the ground
In split oceans.

Silence remains
The sound of night
The food of day
The store of might…

Until the rains come
Until the rains come
Let us reflect
Until the rains come.

Ritual by Nii Parkes

© Copyright 1999. All rights reserved. No portion of this work may be duplicated or copied without the expressed written consent of the author.

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