THIS POEM IS A RAIN DANCE!

Because the lawn is burnt to a crisp.

And I can’t seem to water the plants enough.

Just now I had the hose spraying the

oval garden

when suddenly big fat raindrops

splashed my neck and arms.

Ah, but will they continue?

Lately, it seems like the sky teases us

more and more often.

There it goes turning a mighty gray

and the wind comes up and the trees

start to bend and sway and not far away

mighty thunder rumbles

and a few bold drops come swizzling to the parched earth.

But see now how the drops are already drying up

on the bluestone patio.

And that sizzling sun is squeezing out between the clouds.

Heaven’s faucet has closed.

Perhaps if I pick up that hose again

and skip and twirl and bow and shuffle and howl,

the rain will start falling once more.

HURRAH, a few hours later the dance worked wonders!

What a blessing the fresh wet air is,

What a thoroughly delightful dousing we are getting!