The Sweet Desert Rain
© Peter Healy
Labouring, I breathe,
yet I do not seek reprieve
from this air that thick surrounds me,
this sun that burns and browns me,
this land of bold resilience, yet fragile beauty still
We all cry for rain.
The sandy creek, once proud, lays dry
and dust, in flurries, swirl the sky.
How long? Tonight?
“How soon?” we cry…
The rugged hills stand silent.
Jutting, craggy crevice, broken
stubby branches claw.
The strong, tenacious, cling to life,
as lovers, wanting more.
Yearning touch. An urgent lust.
All pretence laid bare.
Open to the rumbling sky
as lightning teases there…
At last! First kiss. A soft caress.
In rapture now, we sway.
A lovers dance. Oh, sweet romance.
To life, we drink today.
And soaking deep the splendour,
we laugh, in bliss, amazed,
as the rhythm builds and rivers run,
birds sing songs of praise
the earth sighs relief
in the sweet, desert rain.