The drought

She waits for the rain. 

Her seed lies dormant.

Down beneath the dirt, 

That muck of dead earth.

Furrows unploughed,

Crops unyielded

She waits for the rain. 



The puzzle she picks

is missing a piece.

But she cracks the code, 

finds patterns beneath.

That rhythmic contraction, 

the root of the beat. 

The beat of another, 

she resolves to keep. 

The ‘bow


So did they find that pot of gold

at the rainbow’s end?


Their twisted colours, crimson fold,

arcing at the river bend.


Full spectrum of their growing love,

illuminated here.


Refracted light disperses all;

their optical illusion’s clear,


and in my violet mist that falls,

dew settles all around.


Reflecting the impossible,

their love, now gone to ground.