March 25, 2012


The rain came
steady late last fall,
wildflowers blooming
early this year,
pelicans flew south
to Mexico, they
would not
be stopping here.
I don't know
just what I fear,
but in the wind, 
I hear your song, 
the air so dry, 
your voice so clear,
still don't know why
you cannot hear.
The forecast was
almost never fair,
no one could say
who might care,
but all were sure
you'd be here.