The Rain

by Ruby Archer

Artist MAGGIE VANDEWALLE

He is coming the gentle Rain,

Riding his steed, the wind;

And over the dusty plain

Where grasses thirstily pined

Floats a sigh—

"He is nigh!"

And the thunder grumbles his name

To the lightning's questioning glance;

While the air, like a restless flame,

Quivers and glows and pants

With the cry—

"He is nigh!"