Wet Before Home

 Walking home, almost there,

       bone tired and weary, 

         ravaged by the heat,

           a day's work done.

Walking, watching, wishing,

       a small dark cloud,

         out yonder on the edge

           of the evening sky.

Longing to be wet again, 

       doused from the sky

         soaked to the skin

           cooled to the soul.

Hoping against hope,

       that water will fall,

         blessing  the dry earth

           and wetting me before home.

Remembering that day, 

       still a fresh memory, 

         not so long ago,

            as I keep on going.

An old body truly worn out, 

       ravaged by life's storms,

         the work finally done,

           all left now is the waiting,

Watching now the river,

       first a glimpse ahead, 

          now fully before me,

            winding always toward here.

Pushing through the darkness, 

       hoping now once again, 

         to be soaking wet,

           before I make it Home.