Here it has no notion how to rain,
It’s a novice at a storm,
A mere beginner.
Clouds build, to whet the appetite,
Then drift away into the blue,
And die in the sky
Where they were born.
The hard sun bakes the tired earth,
And spring’s green grass grows grey while young.
A steamy, heavy autumn day
Might manage a few sweaty drops,
But nothing more,
And worn-out leaves
In disappointment wilt away.
In summer it rains desert sand,
Swept up by a burning wind
From the farthest corners of Africa.
It smudges the red tiles with brown,
A mockery of rain,
A novice at a storm.
The gentle rain that falls
Lightly on the leaves and slides
Down the grateful blades of grass,
Comforting the waiting earth,
That gentle rain that trickles
Lightly down the pane in spring
And freshens the young girl’s smile
As she jumps the puddles home from school,
Is here beyond our wildest dreams.