RAIN
All through that night
And into the following day
It rained.
We tried to shelter
In the lee of trees
By the crossroads
Where we used to play -
Fine at first
The droplets grew,
Plothering from oak leaves
Under that leaden sky
Till sodden the verges
And the old road
Be-puddled
Muttering rivulets
Flowed down Harrison's Hill
Gurgling to gutters
Replete with water
While wet as fish
We splashed home
In the endless rain,
The endless
Rain.
Rain is more fun when you're young.
ReplyDeleteI remember splashing home through rain so heavy my shoes took a week to dry out.
ReplyDeleteThe other day I was walking and it started to rain, first gently and soon turning into a downpour. I picked up the pace and then thought, "I'll be soaked by the time I'm home," so I just enjoyed the rainy walk, splashing and squishy-shoeing my way home.
ReplyDelete"Plothering" is an underused word.
ReplyDeleteOh dear, I hope your excellent poem is not a comment on the weather in Portugal?
ReplyDelete