Storm Past

Storm past. Broken soft beat
Of rain drops from high eaves
Upon the wide bent backs of hydrangea leaves
Like the pattering of children's feet
Hurrying down many irregular steps.
In this clear air, sound has been clean-swept by rain.
From garden ways steals out the sweet
Cool fragrance of violets.
Storm past. Stream, singing a new song
Through fields thai have lusted long.
Urges the quiet stirring, upwards,
Within the once-more vitalised
Womb of the earth.
Storm past, and now night's soothing begun—
To-morrow the sun
Stooping to suckle the new birth.

—C.