Blame not
Johnclarestokes
Blame not the scorching wind
It thought its breeze was soothing.
Blame not the burning sun
It thought its beams were warming.
Blame not the frost of morning
It thought its blanket was cooling.
Blame not the waters drowning
It thought its depths a baptism
Blame not the sand that grinds
It thought its grains a boy's mine.
Blame not the rains that flood
It thought its drops crops loved
Blame not the ones who hide
They thought from love they could abide.
Blame not Cline Feagles foggy mist
It thought the photographer loved it.
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