Wet Again Poem by Alan Bruce Thompson

The heavy morning cloud, the dark grey skies,
Hanging like wet curtains in front of my eyes.

This means yet another soaking wet day,
As we climb in the drenched hills, no wish to play.

The valley below swims in the mist,
Lost for a while, the view is missed.

Trying to stay dry, no flood nor dew,
In this humid weather we get wet through.

Why did we wait so long to go hide?
Instead of going out tomorrow, let's stay inside.