Sweet rain
Trickling down the drain
As I keep writing
A poem nice and plain

The trees are green
And so are my shoes
But that's beside the point
They are not of much use

As I am drinking my tea
My fingers slightly frozen
I'm thinking of a rhyme
That I have not yet chosen

But oh look I have already started
With this random thinking
While the cloths in the drier
Have started shrinking

Woops…