It rained.
It woke me from my slumber.
It rained as though millions of buckets
Were being emptied together.
I heard it crashing on the roof,
Splashing on the roads,
So much rain in these sun soaked days.
I fell back into my sleep of dreams,
But when I awoke,
Awoke to dawns chorus.
I looked out
And the roads were dry,
The heat of the land
Had dispelled the wetness,
As if it had not rained at all.
Or was it just a dream?
-
Author:
Goldfinch60 (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: August 13th, 2020 00:51
- Comment from author about the poem: It was so strange to look out onto dry roads this morning after so much rain had fallen during the night.
- Category: Nature
- Views: 41
- User favorite of this poem: A Boy With Roses.
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Comments4
... I was waiting for a downpour myself, but am not sure it ever happened .. hope this is not going to be one of them Michael Fish moments.. dont think me thatch could stand it after the last big un .... maybe it was a dream ... a dry one tho 🙂
I was in Kent when the Michael Fish hurricane never happened, I was working in Building Maintenance at the local council at the time an the things I saw were both so sad and so funny.
I wrote this about it:
No, There Will Be No Hurricane Tonight.
Andy Brister (Goldfinch60) – December 2015.
The year was eighty-seven,
The year we had the storm.
The wind howled through the night,
Tiles clattered,
Trees toppled,
Rooves moved,
And fell.
The countryside changed,
Yet only eighteen died.
As I drove to work
The landscape was different.
The trees that had blocked my view were down,
Tiles were everywhere.
I got into work, Building Maintenance at the time,
The ‘phones never stopped.
I sent men out to view the hell
That the wind had produced.
Yet only eighteen died.
They tales they told were both horrific,
And funny.
They told of the rooves
They found on the ground,
Lifted from blocks of flats,
And laid to one side.
Of the tree that fell between
Two blocks, yet touched neither.
Of the greenhouse in the middle of the road,
All glass still intact.
Yet only eighteen died.
The saddest part of all
Was that the wind was salt laden,
It killed the colours of autumn
All over the borough.
So that day when we drove to the west
Was so very strange,
So very beautiful,
Because we drove into autumn.
that is perfect .. I remember it too .. seeing a whole forest laid flat in front of Gullworthy Cottage a mile from the Cornish border... ta for the share Andy.. tis appreciated my friend
Neville
Good write Gold.
I'm collecting some of them millions of buckets of water for.......Pssst! You hear it? My water syphon, in me role as Phantom Tipple-Waterer!
You just keep it in your syphon Orchi!
Yes rain can do wonders to dry August ground and still be soaked up by the time dawn arrives..... another one expected here tomorrow so all hatches closed - thank you for sharing your memories of 2018 too dear Andy
Thank you Fay, yes rain can be wonderful after all this dry spell.
Andy
A river's flow is like water under the bridge. Which has absolutely nothing to do with your poem, but i thought it funny.
Rain and its aftermath are great subjects for poetry. Here you've left us all wondering if it was real or not. I say real. I've seen it when it hits the ground and almost immediately dries. A solid write. - Phil A.
Thank you Phil. Yes it was real, I had a cleaner car when I awoke.
Andy
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