A Distinct Lack of Deception Was Present

If you lay down,

On the wet, dark green,

The fat blades of grass,

Swept smooth by the low wind,

And look out over the grey,

Passing waters,

It doesn't seem so hard to love,

In the ungraspable sense,

Stretching wide to take in everything,

Fingertips straining,

Tilt your head back,

If you could just feel this rain,

You would hear it to.

The beckoning call of all those who refused.