Rain

rain, rain, go away,

I once have heard a sad soul say.

do they know what the rain does for you?

those little raindrops coming down like blue.

pelting the earth, making it thin and flat.

I could live on an earth like that.

in the yard, right next to the stoop,

the garden sentinels do droop.

rain bends the sense, bends the heart,

so now that statue's stand is art.

how could one see the rain as amiss

no.

I would love to live in a world like this.

 This is the first poem I wrote for myself.
I read back on it. I don't like it, but I remember the feelings, slouching over the page of the book as I entrance my very spirit to the music of the rain.
That's the only reason it is worth this.