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. 

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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.