A Small Respite

I stand alone, feeling the pouring rain, tilt my old hat and lean on my crooked cane - I can only hope there's a break in the storm, respite for the weary and worn - God's tears with mine mingle, falling down my hollow cheek, while thunder echoes holy rumblings I fear to speak - A voice out of the past ask: 'Tell it true, what kind of man, now are you? ' - In trepidation I search my heart and canvas my mind, even glance into my soul, and still no definitive answer do I find - Then the Wind comes to speak, saying; 'I listen, to the lowly and the meek.' - I continue on in the falling rain, listening for awhile, no other answers come, but at least now I see the sun peak, and smile -