Elegy for a trite metaphor


outside the drips splatter

patter to the ground puddle

muddle muddy all around


at last, sweet and blessed


overheard in every attitude

gratitude in every voicing

rejoicing, joining in the sound



interesting the poets trend

tend to call the ugly spatter

sadder, sadly i have found


it is, to me. instead it is the


sun, with its vicious parching

marching merciless and boasting

toasting, roasting whatever it finds


and gone, turning all it touch to dust


last year was there only drought

doubt that permeated, fear

here in me and all around



bright it is that is the villain

killing, spilling blood, fulfilling

its own needs, reeds bleeding dry of

life, strife it brings sharp as knife as

axes, guillotines and taxes



{eyes closed}: picture perfect days

always include the sunshine

funtime likely to be found


at beaches, pleasant and serene


but rain is truer: cleanses, washes

sloshes off the hateful

grateful am i that the ground


the fall, drinks it as must we


for out of dirt there comes no green

lest before there was the rain

and out of heart there comes no clean

lest before there was the pain


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