Rain

'Midst the falling, falling rain
A twinkle drop
Splashed on my knee.
On looking up
What did I see?
Dancing globlets
laughing at me.

In my eyes and up my nose
Those water particles
Went where they chose.

'Midst the curtain
Running, running
Blindly through cascade.
Sheeting wind
And driving showers
Drenched me as sky bade.

Clinging clothes
Scratched damply
Heavy those
Chilled amply.

'Neath tree's bough
I rested puffing, puffing
Trying to catch my breath.
"You'll never make it!"
Hooted the clouds,
"Not when this is my weth!"

Shaking fists up at the sky
Hearing it still laughing
When it thought I could do nought
At impromptu bathing.

Squaring my shoulders
In puddles stepping, stepping
Not minding now the wet.
Now that I'm soaked
I'll show the rain
I care not its let.

If weather to me contrary be
I'll oppose it
Wait and see.

'Midst the falling, falling rain
I smiled at the chance
To dance and sing.
Along deserted streets
Walking, walking
Let the cloud-fall ring.

today

Today the sky is grey, where the brilliant blue that glared until your eyes were sore has dissipated after a big dust storm. Any cars caught out in the subsequent rain have now been painted with the dust the clouds caught and threw back towards the earth through their egestion. As such the cars are well mottled, as if they're about to go bush and camouflage themselves. I pity those who washed their cars yestermorn.

Today is interesting. Mostly because it's no longer yesterday neither is it tomorrow yet. It's today. Present. A present. Not always a welcome present, but still today's present.

So... the earth has turned another round and measured up no single sound. Why I have to rhyme so much in my poems is beyond me. I used to be able to make them work via rhythm alone, but they disagree with me now. Only the remnants remain.

Raining! Raining! Quick take down the clothes, before the spit of the sky makes the drying garments dusty. Again.

Wither will the rains yet come,
wither will they go again,
When summer rages
and fires pages
Taking away many wages.
In the lightning of the storm
In the gale of the lorm,
Now the houses must well be kept
and all the yards well swept
Let not the hunger satiate
In radiating, whirling heat.