unconditional.

perhaps,

if we all spoke plainly

of our

winter,

we would have no need

to search hungrily

for another’s

spring,

if we could tell

openly

of the taste

of the red dust

of our desert,

as it chokes the throat,

we might be

rain,

soft and soothing

until life blooms gently in

barren places,

again.

— unconditional.

© Liezel Graham 2018.

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