Just a-walking in the rain.
What are we doing in the rain,
getting wet, once again?
When we should all be dry indoors,
and dreaming of those Cornish shores.
I can see the sun shining,
I feel the raindrops;
so where is my rainbow?
Where?
I look about,
doubt in my heart
that one will be there;
when there should be one there.
Where is my rainbow?
Where?
Or am I just imagining
that when two facts collide
a resulting phenomenon
should be to my side?
Where is my rainbow?
Where?
Oh, where?
For it isn’t there.
Pour a bucket of water over my head and have done with it!
Why do you have to keep adding insult to injury?
I only wanted a dry day for a change – and what happens?
Yup! Another rain cloud poised above me, the moment that I venture forth, disposes of its contents upon little, old me.
It was a Friday
in February,
and took place upon an island.
Sound familiar?
The wind was:
a, blowing,
b, blowing a lot
c, at such a level whereby an ‘Amber-coloured’ alert had been issued.
d, all of the above
e, none of the above
f, some of the above; but, in larger or smaller quantities
g, there is no ‘g’ option.
It also rained.
Wind and Rain
what a combination!
No Sun, no Rainbow or multiples thereof.
The wind id usually cold and forceful;
the rain wet and wetter still.
All in all, a typical day in February.
And, one of a long line of suchlike days just experienced
and to come.
Let me take a bow
to the rain
and how it falls upon me.
And how that I can get
absolutely soaking wet
which is never quite beyond me.
I was standing in the sun
it shone on everyone
but, especially, on me.
And then I saw the bow,
took a picture so I’d know
that the Sun had even been…
here, with me.
So, now I’m drying off
I sniffle and I cough,
a sneeze is soon forthcoming,
Because, I went out in the Sun
and came home in the rain,
that upon my head was drumming.
When that I was and a little tiny boy,
With hey, ho, the wind and the rain,
A foolish thing was but a toy,
For the rain it raineth every day.
But when I came to man’s estate,
With hey, ho, the wind and the rain,
’Gainst knaves and thieves men shut their gate,
For the rain it raineth every day.
But when I came, alas! to wive,
With hey, ho, the wind and the rain,
By swaggering could I never thrive,
For the rain it raineth every day.
But when I came unto my beds,
With hey, ho, the wind and the rain,
With toss-pots still had drunken heads,
For the rain it raineth every day.
A great while ago the world begun,
With hey, ho, the wind and the rain,
But that’s all one, our play is done,
And we’ll strive to please you every day.
Under Cornish skies
I could get quite wet,
as the rain it falls on me.
When will it end?
Has it only just begun?
When will it let me be?
Although the lakes
and reservoirs were thirsty,
I think they have had their fill;
enough to see the Winter through;
but, rain it does
upon my head
I suppose it always will.
 | The Febrile Imaginin… on “What do you mean by ‘just’ a… |
 | InfiniteZip on “What do you mean by ‘just’ a… |
| The Febrile Imaginin… on Bob |
 | Riverside Peace on Bob |
| The Febrile Imaginin… on “Gravity’s working!” |
