How peaceful could the pasture feel
if it’s grass were dead and yellowed?
If the sun burdened it with it’s
heat, and it had no relief from the rain?
How peaceful could the meadow be when
clouds mask the stars in the night sky,
shading it from their glory?
I want to downpour on the pasture;
I want to blow hard on the clouds that
cover the meadow until they drift away,
revealing the infinite speckles in the sky.
I want to break the cycle of desolate heat
killing off the luscious grass,
I want the clouds to burden the pasture with
a monsoon, torrential downpour, and I’ll
grasp the light from the stars and deliver it
to the meadow like it was a precious parcel
that was waited on.
