Monsoon Poem by Dale Mullock

Storm clouds are overhead as there is a monsoon,
but no need to despair because we’re over the moon,
all the running and fighting in the street,
stops because the angels have begun to weep,
their tears falling and splashing at our feet,
people then start rejoicing and dancing in the street,
because the water from heaven is so sweet,
so won’t you take my hand,
and help build up this newly moist land,
then we can all be together,
rejoicing in the lush and wet weather.

The dark grey clouds of the monsoon,
destroy the gloom and start a season of bloom,
so all those people in the street,
that you keep on wanting to meet,
open their arms in a gesture to greet,
as the falling precipitation peppers the street,
the resonate pattering, a golden treat,
as this is their lucky number seven,
pennies cascading down from heaven,
helping to put an end to drought and poverty,
and make a start to freedom and positivity.