puddles

So she said
              from the shadows
we are all made of rain
       fortified by silence
strengthened
              from pain

    Without it
       we are    dust
swiftly erased
       by a breeze
          With luck
     we become puddles
or give rise
          to the trees

How can
          you know?
               I queried  
                   I must

               Without rain
        we have very little
                       to trust

       I couldn’t quite fathom
   her moral or muse
 but she
       created reality
           I would not refute

 This month is all about poetry.
Something new every day.