It was evening when the pour
that will grow or kill a life
regarded me like a wise teacher.
Tonight some life will pop up here.
Tonight some life will rot down there.
The rain thundered a question,
“When last did you grow another life?”
I don’t know when an outlander
felt deeply loved to root in my soil.
What would they become there;
a replica of themselves or myself?
Would they be a pretty flower, a feared
mushroom, or a weed that I will kill?
The thunder faded and I felt struck
by the power of raining a love lesson
with a probe from growth in a clay pot.
The sun came out like a headteacher
holding the rainbow on her palms.
Thunder waved a farewell of tears,
“Rainfall comes with a responsibility
to birth and kill life under the sun.
Do not forget those you have formed
or ceased through tears of your life.”
