Between the puddles now we leap,
In futile yearning we might keep
Our shoes undampened, but we reap
A squishy crop unplanned.
More raindrops yet the heavens weep:
Between our sodden soles they seep,
As we, beneath umbrellas, creep
From parking lots to SUL.
Though only half-way there, the hated
Torrential terror has inflated
Our shoes and clothes till each is sated,
And leaves behind a pool.
What slush our sorry soles are slated!
What sins did we, that we have rated
Such woes as I above have stated?
Whence came this soggy debt?
Should rain continue unabated,
Then SUL to drowning must be fated,
For drier dreams are sublimated
Within the wind-whipped wet.
Originally published in SUL News Notes, March 10, 1995.
c 1995, 1996 Fleabonnet Press for the author.