Letter to the Rain
Winter has passed
And even the spring approaches her end.
You are badly missed in the garden.
When will your absence be over?
Oh Rain! Rain! Rain!
Kind and cold-hearted rain!
It gets nothing, the garden, but dust, red dust,
off the feet of by-passers or blown in by the wind
from deserts and mountains and forests.
Dust piles up by the walls, in the corners.
Rain! Soft rain!
The last bird of the garden will leave after sundown
and I've written this poem on her outstretched wing.
Will it reach you or not?
All day the dahlias cried for you,
and I wrote this for their comfort.
Rain, come at once, come once you get this.