What Will You Bring Me?
Mother Earth looks to Father Sky asking,
what will you bring me, today?
Rain,
Staccato, syncopated splashing across the sandy soil
falling tears like sapphire gemstones from a baby's eye
showering iridescent pearls and diamonds over mother
Earth's honed musculature.
Mother Earth looks to Father Sky asking,
what will you bring me, today?
Rain,
Confusing, cacophonated crashing above the harsh geometries
raging rivers of pulverizing power shaping features like
a ripsaw's icy teeth across fresh lumber
destroying the long fashioned sinew and bone of mother Earth's
stalwart remains.
Mother Earth looks to Father Sky asking,
what will you bring me, today?
Rain,
Playful, prancing, dancing across gray and gloomy skies
tumbling wetness frolicking in the wind like puppies engaged
in a game of fetch
crafting a new kaleidoscope of color and shape and life revitalizing
mother Earth's skin.
Mother Earth looks to Father Sky asking,
what rain will you bring me, today?
-by Dan Tabor, March 2009, generated from a group poetry circle instructional model
