Rain in the Hills
by William Haskell Simpson
Were I the rain
Coming over the hills—
I should be glad
That my cool fingers could ease the little fevers of dusty
water-holes,
And caress curled leaves of the cottonwoods.
The herd,
Pawing, bellowing, would let me quiet them,
Standing in fresh pools by dusty water-holes–
If I were the rain
Coming over the hills.
PHOTO: Thunderstorm in the hills near Santa Fe, New Mexico. Photo by Raychel Sanner on Unsplash
POETRY and PLACES 