08 Mar 2016 – Rubaiyat

I’ve stumbled through a desert where I heard no song,
the way was dry and dusty, and my thirst prolonged.
Mirages danced before my lips parched dry and cracked,
and I cried out “please show me where my feet went wrong!”

The smell of rain arising, blowing from the West
can flood the soul with joy at having passed the test
of drought and famine, even though the storm’s not come,
the promise is enough to give the soul sweet rest.

The floods fill up the gutters and the sidewalks, too.
The wine of heaven rises, filling up my shoes.
I’ll sing my songs in answer to the crashing storm,
I’ll worry later how I’ll pay my Muse’s dues.