The timid rain comes at night
Descending so softly
Like children down moonlit stairs
The oppressive sun sleeps
While the water rises
Shining on green blades
And inky black streets
Quartz stones
Once faded by dust
Glisten so cautiously
From forest trails
And long barren roads
Yet this beauty will be ignored
For the sightless sound
Of recycled water
That which has seen everywhere
And been in everything
The soul of mankind
Is not etherical and fantastical
No
It is wet and rhythmic
Raindrops of windowsills
And heartbeats in chests
Our treasure
Like us, born from nature
And fated to return to it
Until last light dries it

-Galwyn

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