I think the rain has to be my muse.
Sheets of unbent rain does fall.
Threads of silver drifting down,
Flowing through my pen effectively
To quench my poetic thirst through verse
Impressive an unpredictable, it is,
Just like Mother Nature's moods.
It's so romantic and enlightening,
Or so raw and dramatic in it's fury.
The only thing predictable
Is the unpredictability of it's swarths.
For Francine Roberts's contest, 'Rain Rain Rain'