Raindrops running down the windowpane
hurrying through pathways
to the thirsty earth.
Green lushness awaiting to grow.
Little grubs
and crawly things
swim to save their insignificant lives.
Who is to say the angels don’t guard them?
When the raindrops stop,
it’s time to breathe and relax again,
and to rebuild burroughs
washed away.Poem and photos by Elizabeth Munroz
