Just look at the enchanting rain!

Falling like a silver veil.

I wonder at the people who complain

at so beautiful a thing.

 

They push back curtains and only see

de-styled hair and wrecks

of plans—as if the earth were meant to be

the steward of our whims.

 

Of course, the conscientious ranks

will brave the puddled streets

to muster up obligatory thanks,

mindful of the crops.

 

What both groups claim for sight seems tragic,

blind to beauty that

in another world we might call magic—

water pouring from the air.

 

 

 

 

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