Sunday, May 25, 2014

{the quality of mercy}


It is raining and I feel
It is about time

If I were away two-thousand miles
I would race down to your room
barefoot

and we would run to put feet
and faces and hands in the cold
rare rain and we would smile
and probably sing

I was just reading of it,
of mercy unstrained which falls like rain
and that perhaps is why I can’t believe it
like Shakespeare did,
those two-thousand miles

to a desert land where rain is neither
generous nor unstrained
where if you hesitated you might miss it
where it is quickly come and swiftly gone

and we are left not wet enough
not cold enough
just thirsty for long gray wet days


and for mercy twice blessed.

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