Purple does the rain walk
in the hills
of Green knives
The fauna is thirsty
they drink the red out of the rain
Yellow sometimes is the rain for this
desperate is its concern.
From Violet passion to envious
What was once Crimson in self
What was once Orange for the Arches of Heaven
What was once Pink with out worry or concern for anything
Now, fallen deep Blue and gained freedom
far removed from that once bright beginning…
Descending from purity, it now wearily walks
among the weeds that might aspire to touch
Arches—trees in their deep souls.
The rain knows its proud and unfinished past
—seeking to reach the bottom of the world
—learned that the truth was not in the skies
—knowing that trees will beautify the air
—hoping that their roots will follow it into
the depths of time and trust in the worlds firmament.
Great waters await the trees.
—The rain wishes that it is Purple,
The rain will not keep anything not truly itself,
The rain will walk in the hills — forever free.