Penn State York

“RAINDROPS” – BY TIM GROTH

Raindrops could not
fall
for Grandma.

Nor for she who
passed
at eighteen.

I, like brown
ears, yearn
for those drops.

For just one great
storm
sans  raison.

Danced for some but
failed
one more time.

Dry sockets
scan skies
for any sign.

Needing to find
relief
for this

drought.