Which person was it
who first fouled the rain
with his melancholy moods?
I feel no such sorrow
at the cascading drops.
A jumper soaked; a chill cold caught,
Anger cries "Rain is for naught!"
Such inconvenience is the price of life.
I'm glad my God, my Lord,
in his kind wisdom poured,
fresh water upon our land.
For now, it's smells of fresh-drenched dirt,
crisp and clean; alive.
For next, it's full, round fruit finding
all's turned ripe one Summer Day.
No inconvenience then: just joy.
