My sweet feller hung me a clothesline, but it keeps raining on my laundry.
It’s raining right now, again.
Those towels out the window hang low, bouncing the drops right off the line, and the wind pulls them back and forth.
Who knew it rains this much in August?
And I am waiting, inside.
Give me grace to wait right.
Your words are my oxygen.
And I will listen for them as long as it takes.