Shards of rain slicing,
enticing me to go inside,
when I'm far from that warm place.
The wind grabs Harry from my slippery hands, Harry,
my umbrella whose broken at the tip.
Oh, not him, wind!
Why did you choose him to take? !
I should just keep walking,
my shoes have gotten themselves flooded,
drowning my toes, they yelp for help,
awkward, and uncomfortable, and cold.
A wave of puddle, suddenly upon me,
from the rich guy blasting top hits, driving,
'round a corner where he can't see my sodden self.
But I'm no wetter than ...