by Ethel Mortenson Davis
The rain stepped softly
over us last night,
kissing us with
sweet tenderness.
But we push her away,
telling her to leave us alone —
like the spoiled, unthankful
children we are.
by Ethel Mortenson Davis
The rain stepped softly
over us last night,
kissing us with
sweet tenderness.
But we push her away,
telling her to leave us alone —
like the spoiled, unthankful
children we are.
fourwindowspress 
Lovely!
Beautiful as always.