Pouring Down

Cutting grass when all is damp

Provides a pleasant scent

It covers up all muddy odors

To dust we will all decent.

In the wet press of outbursts

A presence in all sufferings

So is it really so bad to get drenched.

Blown by a constant breeze.

It is tasteless.

All hope placed on good things

Such as coffee, bitter on the tongue

The learning, to add sugar to make it sweet.

Thunder rumbling, crashing to the ground.

A flash of light.

Then comes the sunlight in love.

Birds singing a song so sweet.