I wake to the familiar sound of a soft friend
who had left me thirsty for others to visit.
I open my doors & stand there quietly,
a steaming coffee cup in my hand
watching the lawn turn green, the leaves drip.
I hear the hiss of rain falling on concrete,
pinging off my laboring air conditioner
and l am kissed again & loved by my friend.
I ask my rain-lover to stay awhile
to be content with my place, my land.
I too need to be watered & wet with life.

© 2002 Daniel R. Miller