PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

When I stand at the backdoor

Watching the late spring rain

I study the movement of the flowers

And the patterns on the brick walk again and again.



The flowers move up or so it seems

Toward the water ladened sky

Or perhaps it is their form of elation

That the ground's no longer dry.



The bricks I laid so long ago

Is now bordered with the bounty of spring

Out of which moves a tree frog

To sit among the drops and sing.



The garden is playful in rain

Young leaves unhardened by summer's heat

Dance and share their silver beads

In time with the rainfall's beat.



And even with ample shelter from the rain

A bird or two still comes for seed

Breaking the husks on the lilac limb

Fulfilling for both of us a need.



I am now aware of what passes by,

Aware of the things I miss

Not standing at the backdoor

For the moment watching this.