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
And caress curled leaves of the cottonwoods.
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