Better late than never

Every cloud has a silver lining, at least that's what they say,
So though storms may loom, they’ll soon pass away.
Just as in my odd verse, the heavy rain persists,
Like wet weeds, rhymes tangle, yet some order persists.

Actions speak louder than words, it’s true,
And my couplets whisper, don’t shout but they mew.
The lines I craft may not enthral,
But practice makes perfect - through each little fall.

If you’re looking for trouble, you’ll surely find
The flaws in my stanzas are all misaligned.
We reap what we sow, and my efforts are sparse,
Yet here I persist, though I write like an arse.

So, to conclude, if I may be so bold,
Like a lost sheep that's brought back into the fold
If all's well that ends well, I express my content,
Though this poem is complete, it's not heaven-sent.