by cricketjeff on June 9, 2011. © Jeff Green, All rights reserved
I’d rather miss a soaking than see multicoloured sky.
While walking home one evening, in a gentle golden light,
I felt the chill of winter, saw a rushed approach of night,
Heard claps of awful thunder after flashes ripped the clouds
And suddenly the air was filled with horrid sopping crowds.
The sky above was beautiful but I was far from dry,
Two arcs of shining colour, made a painting of the sky.
A cold unfriendly tickle started running down my spine,
My spectacles a mug of milk and not a glass of wine;
Beside the road a river seemed too good for cars to miss,
We must have been appalling to deserve a fate like this.
Who cares what’s bright and beautiful if you aren’t warm and dry?
The bus that soaks your trousers isn’t pretty as the sky.
And then the floods are over and the darkness rolls away,
The Stygian shades of midnight are replaced by lights of day.
The frowns of passing people seem to quickly dissipate
And thoughts of what’s for dinner take the place of dreams of hate.
The sky’s no longer beautiful but soon I shall be dry,
Why must we get a soaking to see multicoloured sky?