Rain

Rain

Crying angels
on celestial pillows
are writing dreams
with their clear tears;
and sending them
– if they can –
down from the Heaven.

Some gets cold
from it.
Some gets soaked
from it.
And, hopefully, somewhere
this Celestial Water
runs down to the heart
of a faithful prayer.

The feathery drops
are caressing,
guiding us
to cleansing
for a new Spring
when the new Wind
whistling through our Soul
provoke a sing.

All the sorrow
has gone with the Wind.
All the pain
is running from it;
and from the Rain
turning the spoil
into living soil
for the sprouting Grain.

Flying angels
– like wind from a willow –
leave the Safe.
The Water-bearers
carry
– pure and shiny –
The Dream of the Brave.