The storm clouds wandered in, and massed,
Consigning sunshine to the past,
And wrung themselves till they were dry,
To drench each gal and every guy
Enrolled within the festive cast,
As if intending to deny
The rights of those beneath them massed
To wander similarly dry.
The drought is over -- that's for sure:
The deluge we must now endure.
Though spring is waning, we are yet
Beset by rainy days. How wet
Must we become before a cure
Concludes the soggy days that fret
Festivities like these? There sure
Seems little promise of one yet.
Originally published in SUL News Notes, May 19, 1995.
c 1995 Fleabonnet Press for the author.