Margaret Fieland's Page

The wind whispers:
Oh, no,
no more,
no more.

It mutters:
time to get out,
get out,
get out.

It murmurs:
It's time to tell,
tell all,
tell all.

It shouts:
it's not your fault,
never forget,
never forget.

Sing a song of sadness,
hug me when I cry;
I dream of clouds and darkness,
though I know not why.

As I dream of darkness,
as I watch the rain,
I see the wind and weather
echoing my pain.

My mood is always cloudy
though I see the sun.
While I wish for wisdom,
still I'm finding none..

Yet I sit here waiting
wallowing in my grief,
having learned no lesson,
finding no relief.

Dark clouds chase each other,
cover sun and moon;
wearily I watch them;
is help coming soon?

Sing a song of sadness,
hug… Continue

How many Gods are shaking gourds
filled with clay balls the size of olives,
making the rain fall in time to their shaking?

How many are opening celestial spigots
or pouring water from godly gallon jugs
or spraying the earth with heavenly hoses

as the rain falls onto the green grass?