Rain Poem by R. L. Allen

Rain



It is raining.
All over the town,
tiny droplets of rain
are pattering
into the
road,
making
puddles of
murky rainwater,
crisp sheets of glass
just thin enough to
withstand the weight
of each new pearl of
rain that falls
until the sun
comes out
and
everywhere
is dry again.
The houses sigh,
their shoulders heavy
with relief as their
tiles are washed
clean with a
cool summer
shower:
refreshment
after an unusually
sunny spell for
such a country as this
where not a second goes
by without somebody
complaining
about
the
weather.
The
pond
at the
bottom
of our garden
is dappled with
water-lilies,
ironically
perfect
for a time of
solace and rememberance.
Perhaps we should buy
some poppies and
plant them around
the banks of the water,
so as to serve as a
gentle reminder
of you during
the winter
months
when
the chances
of sunshine are
slim and the long,
stretched-out days
of sunshine-rays and
daisies are few and
far between –
you know
what
I mean,
don’t you?
When the ice-cream
van trundles down
the lane and
through the
village,
playing it’s
music –
contrary to
what you always used
to say – to let
everyone know
that his van was
actually full of
ice cream, and
not empty!

In all honesty,
I don’t think that
any amount of flowers
can compensate
for all this grief.
But, I do know
that we should be
grateful for every bud
that breaks,
because some
people don’t even
have flowers,
never mind a
family as
strong
as
ours.






June 1st,2010.

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