after the rain

the creamy light reflects from whites and greys
upon the trees the leaves are glowing green
this is a wondrous steady quiet scene
auspiciating what should be finer days
if the pleasure that holds us in place stays
and things turn better than they have been
the breeze that's blowing softly seems to mean
more than its import which is gently cool
but time moves onward with a steady step
and nothing matters until it has gone
yet anyone who'd falter is a fool
if he or she thinks only of their rep
and not of whether the struggle's really won