Rainy Day

On this rainy day I think about the rain.

I look beyond my window glass and think about the rain.

It's not that it's unusual to think about the rain;

But, I've not seen it for a while-just plain old rainy rain.

I should be writing all my books instead of doing this;

But it gives me much more joy to stare at the abyss.

The abyss of green and gray and brown and everything it is,

Makes me stop and wonder how and what and why it is.

Wonder why I can't write a word of any certain sense.

Why I'm content in watching rain as it simply just descends

Its rhythmic pattern seems to soothe my creaky, restless soul,

It soothes my frazzled, weary mind into a welcome lull.

Oops, out there on a leaf I think, I think I see

A small garden in Hong Kong and a balcony.

On another branch with dripping, constant rain,

I see the market going down and down again.

The wind shifts and a blind soul moves around,

Lost without his love who cannot hear a sound.

A panther creeps through a jungle drenched in rain

And leaps into a club bereft of love, not pain.

The rain has slowed; the drops are few.

I thank it for its point of view.

I close the shades and get my pen.

The rain has helped me start again.

by Fritz Carroll