I wake to the darkness of early hours
and hear the soft silence of misty rain,
I know the dry grass and drooping flowers
are slowly lifting into life again.
Long withering days of uncaring heat
had almost exhausted our deepest springs
and hiding all beneath a dusty sheet
wearied our spirits of everything.
I hear a quick rustling among the birds
as they wake to elation in the leaves,
I know their prayers that have no words
just sudden gratitude for this reprieve.
I lie parched and quiet in my ageing skin.
Will rain raise me into life again?
‘I wake to the darkness of early hours’
