You overflow
With reasons why not.
Thundercloud looming on the horizon.
Rain on my parade .
Not a deluge,
Washing away every whisper;
You drizzle on my soul,
Small, soft and consistent.
I can dance in the rain.
I know how.
I am not afraid to shout at clouds.
But what would be the point?
You pitter-patter down amidst
Chatter of fishing poles
And holes.
Holding a sunny mask before your face,
You rain
And I am wet.
Copyright 1986, Diana W. Smith, All Rights Reserved