It’s Pressing Hot Poem by Gert Strydom

It’s pressing hot
and the air begs for rain
and in the distance
thunder bolts lights up the horizon
while grey black clouds
are pressed together ominous.

Suddenly the first drop
hangs on your cheek
and meanders down
with some friends
and drops become
pouring rain
that falls in buckets full
and now there’s thunder
that reports everywhere around us.

Still you stand amazed
as if stuck to the spot
to catch the cool embrace
and I run
to the shed
to stay dry.