Jewels
It pleases the rain
to balance upon the leaf
and slender branch,
To bask in the after-glow of storm,
To bedazzle as jewels
in this burst of sun,
Precious in the rich calm,
Priceless is the lure
upon the limb,
Riches within hand’s reach,
Plucked from sight
in bathe of breeze,
Scarce time for impoverished
eye to blink,
To vanish, so pure,
in the undergrowth,
This vale of green,
Such is the harvest of sad cloud.
© Michael Garrad October 2012
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