RAIN ON ROSES

By John Grey
 
 
 Heavy rain bounces off the porch,
 ricochets into the garden
 for a rose's second helping.
 
 Headlights on high,
 a car rolls by
 playing Rossini of all things.
 
 Not a thieving magpie,
 but a cheerful chickadee
 warbles the low notes.
 
 Wind is on the rampage,
 trees bend like stooping men,
 windows rattle like coin jars.
 
 It's an afternoon in free-form,
 violence here, music there.
 There'll be some ruin in their near term
 
 but a clear light, a green smell,
 to go with it.
 And roses will bloom,
 
 inspired by all outside of it
 but colored from within.