Rain: A Natural and Cultural History
It's raining, it's pouring, the old man is snoring!
It's April and it's showering, thundering, lightening!
Nightwind splatters drops against the door frightening
The cats curled up close.
The gutters fail and the corners flood
Tulips and pansies awaiting May.
Is this a poem? Who can say? For something that was floating (in rainwater) in my head, it is the best poetry to come out in a long time. As Susan Porter says, that's my perspective.
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