Rain.

Posted on 4 Aug, 2008 4 comments

This one I wrote in Darwin.

Oh, how boring,
it’s raining’ it’s pouring.
I can’t go to the flower bed
because I will get sopping wet.
It’s dark, the lights are on inside
and with a book in bed we hide.
Listening to the rain falling
and the frogs out calling
under the dark and wet trees.
It is still twenty five degrees
very good for growing fungi:
don’t eat these when you’re hungry!
The frilled lizards are having a ball
finding grubs, rainworms and all.
Puddles everywhere to be seen
I stay inside, I’m not too keen.
I know we need the rain real bad
and most people are very glad.
But I prefer the sun out there
to see the colours everywhere,
to walk across the grass barefeet
(a pleasure from my youth indeed)
and inspect the plants, and I admit
with seceteurs, snip snap a bit.
Then pushing the wheel barrow around
fun for me, fun for the hounds;
as one barks at the turning wheel
the other snapping at my heel.
Guess I have to wait a while
and sit inside, old fashioned style.
Oops, there was a lightning flash
followed by thunder in a dash.
Too bad, I’ll have to wait till dry
Boring rain, I told you why.

Marguerite.