loud,
piddle paddle on the roof,
comes in sheets,
comes in mist,
always wet,
never dry.
Forms in puddles,
when it is through,
and sometimes,
a colorful arch across the sky,
will be seen.
To find the end is pointless,
there is none.
As quick as the rain started,
it stops,
and all traces of it,
vanish.
No comments:
Post a Comment