In Seattle one could count on it!
Barometric pressure falling daily...
With the probalbility of rain-
Oft' times morphing into a steady drizzle
And grayer than gray skies;
In those days, depressive illness ran rife...
Much of it was linked to the bleak weather-
That chilly precipitation that keeps Washington evergreen;
That same miserable rain fell
The day my father died;
Some ask me today, if, i miss Seattle
And, of course, i reply: 'yes'
But, i do not miss that infernal rainfall
That always chilled me to the bone...
That literally dumped from the heavens
On May 7-
Leaving me drenched and oh so alone;
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem