For, finally, the rain on our drought, and the poem it leads me to each time, from poets.org. The rest of the poem may be found here:
https://www.poets.org/poetsorg/poem/somewhere-i-have-never-travelledgladly-beyond
from somewhere i have never travelled,gladly beyond / by e.e. cummings (1894 – 1962)
(i do not know what it is about you that closes
and opens;only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
nobody,not even the rain,has such small hands
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