Fat little gray clouds
smear the sky.
Adjusting
to a comfortable position,
they settle in
and spend the day weeping.

Rain here is
soft and welcoming,
cold as ice sometimes,
but warm as a toasty spa
most of the time.

From my window
I see umbrellas that bob
like a *** boiling.
They weave in their
ceremonial dance.

Rain whispers secrets.
Rain reads fortunes.
Rain cleanses the sidewalks
and waters the roses.

Warm inside, one might think
the rain a kaleidoscope
of unsurpassed beauty.

Homeless Old Mothers and Fathers
find it tedious and hold soggy
papers over their heads as they
seek a dry spot to wait it out.

It rains all day - grab a comforter
where you can snuggle and dream.