Saturday, August 27, 2016

sweet millions

sweet millions, settling into dust, how I love you,
in flood, and mud, and rust, and live and die among you,
as we millions softly, sweetly, must, and ask you,
is there more sacred summer trust
than being pleased
by rain?


Jonathan Chant said...

No, nothing more sacred. Exquisitely put.

William Michaelian said...

These morning notes — sometimes I don’t know what to make of them. I’m very grateful for your kind response. Thank you, Jonathan.