It Is The way Of Love
The rain comes
to lift the wilt from flower.
The friend comes
wets the ground about the soul
The rain knows when to go,
lest life it comes to save
drowns in soil
too wet to keep the root.
It is, in the alone,
that root sinks deep
and anchors us
to ground we keep
without the sinking
drought will come
wither friend and flower away.
The flower knows,
it is the way of love.
The friend knows
rain must
come again tomorrow.
