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A REFUGE FOR POETS WHO WRITE IN THE LYRIC TRADITION,

WITH RHYME AND METER, WITH OR WITHOUT MUSIC




BAD WEATHER

They say the weatherís bad today,
Because the sky is white and gray,
And sometimes falls a gentle rain;
They wish it gone, but wish in vain.

They hide themselves behind four walls
As though the rain that lightly falls
On fen and forest, field and farm
Could ever do them any harm.

Of course, they want the streams to flow,
Plants to blossom, trees to grow,
But in the rain they will not go,
And none of them will ever know

The raindrops splashing on the bog,
Or dripping from moss-covered logs;
The chirping sound of happy frogs
Amid the hanging, swirling fog.

I have no reason to complain.
I donít mind walking in the rain.
Why do they say the weatherís bad?
No better weatherís to be had.

Winthrop, New York, 1995



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