Pelting Rain Upon the Lake

 Pelting rain out on the lake
Does no damage to the fish,
Though it may appear as
Thousands of tiny fists
Taking a swing, the reach of
Rain too short or soft.
Quickly the violence is calmed,
Flows as one to re-fresh reservoir,
Slowly joins water’s march to dam.
Stream below seems crazy, churning….
Tall weeds that line the banks
Give nodding glance and praise.
What else are they to do
But bow their heads,
Though trees shake their crowns
In majestic disagreement?
All the boats are gone,
Hugging shore, empty of
Owners who’ve sought shelter.
Fish seek shelter, too, farther
Down among pilings of the docks,
Shallow mud stirred in confusion.
This lake is too small for sharks,
Dangerous and sharp in ocean deep,
Prowling and swallowing prey.
But here on my slender lake, I pray,
Allow my lungs to fill as sails,
Billowing out with stronger winds,
Music of the wind-chimes my Sunday hymn,
Silver tuned like clouds in sky.
I will open windows, let breeze
Stir all the calm within,
Cry of hawks still hunting
As they dive for small, gentle fish.


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