Rain in the fields

Rain in the fields

By Sean Roper

You like to tie my wrists and ankles with marionette strings,

which make me submit to your every desire.

Yet I remember yesterday planting a young oak tree

in the middle of the wheat fields, that move with the breeze;

we stop to see the sunny day turn to warm rain.

We get naked and lay down next to the tree,

So we can feel every drop hit us.

The touch of rain reaches far away

To the creek down the street; to the metal of a barn.

From our cars parked nearby; to the soft dirt of the ground.

the scent of clean warm rain and the sound of every drop remain.

A fire breaks out all around us burning us calmly.

How calming it is to feel the warmth of the flames.

This morning all that remained was the young oak tree.

I need a lot more sleep.