Late Spring

The rain falls in a soft mist
Against an evening sky of steel gray,
As I sit along this verdure covered trail
Of sand and river licked stones,
Listening to the rainís rippling sound
As it plays the leaves of the Sycamore,
Oak, Ash and the Willow;
Smelling the wet pungency of pollen
Waft on the thick moist air of late spring.
And as I sit here listening
To this discordant sound,
A leaf of the wild black berry
Flickers as a rain drop
Falls upon its surface,
Creating a subtle rivulet
Of sound and motion
That stands alone
Upon the verdant landscape
Unfolding before me.
Then all around, one after another,
Leaves begin to flicker
Like keys on a grand piano,
Pounding a driving rhythm;
An orchestral symphony
Unknown to human hands.
How beautifully the leaves move
In perfect harmony
As I sit here
In the front row
Of eternity.

© 1996 Jim Cain

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