Pitter patter hear I
Miserable drizzle from
Boring white sky
No thunder for lullaby
Trudge up to the hilltop I
Jackless is this heedless Jill
Two pails I fill, not one
Haul them down to the windowsill
Slosh one straight at my flowerbed
Roses burn as roses red
The second I lift overhead and tilt
For split second rain to clean the wilt
Of a sad, white day
With that peculiar sense of decay
I dislike so much
