It Rains
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By Ewan
- 409 reads
It rains, f
a
l
l
i
n
g
“like out of a
B T”
U E
C K
as the Russians say.
We sing a song of Feste
and the rain it raineth every day.
The water flows d
o
w
n
h
i
l
l
over drains,
hiding the sides of the road:
puddles the size of a pond
are only missing a toad
to croak their approval
of this pluvial overload.
And not even a blue patch,
the size of a sailor’s jock strap,
to promise a hint of later sun
and coax the rising of sap
in the cold northerners
huddled in their raincoats,
while boys and girls hide inside,
glued to screens, safe from rain,
housebound until spring or snow
whichever comes first.
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Comments
Cleverly done. Depressing isn
Cleverly done. Depressing isn't it? I wish there were a blue patch somewhere
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Feste has been going through
Feste has been going through my head lately, too :0) The bit about glued to screens till Spring or snow struck a chord with me
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