The sky is shades of glory,
Hurled out over an emerald sea
Of fresh grass and new growth
Sparkling still with the day’s rain.

This day, unbrutalizing, hid the sun
Leaving only these glories to die;
Sinking westward toward the waiting morning.
The east, dark with night,
Is broken by distant flashes of lightning
Silhouetting the humped highlands of Ethiopia
That sleep like neighborly giants next door.

The rains may come again tonight
Washing this world away
Toward the rivers and streams that carry it somewhere.
On the thatch the torrents will sound like a rustling
Of the wind through forest trees,
Or the gentle murmur of the ocean in the morning.

And in the morning, what’s left of this world will be mud,
The kind that squishes between your toes
Even with shoes on,
Until the sun bakes it into a hard crust again
Leaving the emerald green to sparkle,
Like lime frosting on a chocolate cake,
Left for future glories to crown.
~ARW