Rik George writes

Remembrance Seventeen

It stormed last night. I heard the rain
Hammer the roof. I think it fell
On her grave, soaking the barren soil,
Striving to wash away my pain.

I did not go to cry in grief
Or whisper masses for my dead.
I’ll wait for sunny days ahead
To call on gods for my relief

Let the rain come down unbound.
The dry land needs the water’s kiss.
The pious have prayed the drought will pass.
She sleeps forever underground

And all the prayers I can devise

Are powerless to change that truth;

My orations are wasted breath,

I doubt the dead will ever rise.