The rain sleeps
through the morning
leaving a hunger
in the fields.
It goes on
for days
this July
and come
evening late
August,
a grey swell,
fingers clenched
rumbles across
the sky
squeezing
porous clouds.
It comes
again
this rain
that scents the air
and feed the fields,
this time we
welcome it.
Theresa Daly
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/draught-2/
