missing the rain

missing the rain is not a major crime
we surface into shades of paler grey
cold night just slowly faded into day
the pond below is cleansed of all its slime
no distant bells interrupt with a chime
but nothing moves the year we come to slay
is sliding quickly right out of the way
of all our journeys now we think of time
this is a moment when we long to soak
our weary feet in water more than warm
and let our minds move slower than a crawl
to tell the difference between task and joke
and watch while foolish others join the swarm
all ready to cross over the next wall