Waiting For The Rain Poem by Tan Pratonix

I am waiting for the rain
To wash away the dust of a whole year,
The dusty leaves in the garden, the grimy trees,
The dirt upon the roof and on the floor,
The sooty windows and the doors
Caked with dust.
I am waiting for a hurricane of rain,
Pouring cats and dogs
(And even a few frogs,
Ejected from some distant lake) .
I am waiting for a huge deluge of rain
To wash away the pain
Of a whole year, twelve months of sheer dust
And grime; the rains must
Remove and wash clean,
Bringing in a fresh reviving scene.

The poems wither and fall, crumbling to touch;
They are heaped up in the hall
And in every room.
No broom will sweep them away,
And so I pray,
'Rain, rain, please stay;
Keep pouring in the yard and on the roof,
And especially in the garden,
So that these cruddy poems don't harden
And become crude monolithic blocks,
Products of the Stone Age (which they are!) ,
Made of coal and soot and char.'

Let there be a flood
Which will wash away the mud,
And cleanse the suffocating air.
These dry and yucky verses
Are like so many curses,
Thorns and weeds and briars
Needing flaming fires.
But I prefer the rain
To wash away the pain,
To see the stacks of shabby poems
Swept swiftly down the drain.

TAN PRATONIX