And then the falling rain,
A herd that passed through in one day, two nights:
Nudged by a shadow, shepherd of their train,
Who screened the two great lights,
They grazed in peace on creeping feet
And left the grass they trod more sweet.

Meekly they nosed and mooed
The little herdlings of the heavy sky,
Who strode above the tender mulching brood.
Skirts of divinity
Across our faces and our rooftoops swept,
The hems of heaven passing, while we slept.

by Monika Cooper

This poem originally ran in the Dec/Jan 2006/07 edition of Grub Street Grackle.