Email Poem

Your IP Address: 18.117.106.206

Your Email Address:

To Email Address:

Subject

Personal Note:

Poem Title:

Poem

Chances of precipitation zero.  Chances of dew, zero.  Chances of a raindrop, one hundred percent, as she was spotted in the sky about six seconds ago.  If Adrianna lands here, how will we collect her?  Who gets access? Where was the sighting? How accurate is the intel?

The ants had already dug a pond in their anthill in case she landed there.  The beetles came around and tried to suck up to the ants, but they briskly shooed them off.   The faeries were the tellers of the tale; the sighting, after all, had come from their high-flying ally, eagle.   The faeries, like the elves, and nymphs, were pretending they might share Adrianna, knowing full well they would rather fight to the death than share her.

The owls had set mint cups out on their oak leaf branches, hoping she would land in one of them.  The entire village was abuzz.  No one had seen a raindrop here for twenty-two minutes, four hours, and sixty-three days.

One tiny raindrop – named Raindrop Adrianna was spotted in the sky, six seconds ago.  Suddenly brothers and sisters were fighting, wrens and robins were not speaking.  Faeries and nymphs were lying.  It was not unusual for one little harmless raindrop to start world war six, which is why we always name our raindrops after women.   The eagles and the owls had not been speaking for decades, over the last raindrop.  

Raindrop Adrianna had turned the whole world upside down.  She probably had no idea what turmoil she had started, as she had already landed on a grateful red tulip, on the other side of the village. We told Adrianna’s story until World War Seven, which was started by Raindrop Rhoda.


Written 11-16-2018
Contest: The Raindrop Poetry Contest     Sponsor: Craig Cornish

CAPTCHA Preview

Type the characters you see in the picture

Required