Do Poets Always Walk in the Rain
Do poets always walk in the rain?
This poet once did
When she was but a kid.
The bathwater of summer drops
Cascading from suburban chimney tops,
Puddles on pavement
Begging for splashing,
A robin’s egg in the grass
All fractured and bashed-in.
The simple wonders
Of childhood
Are not so long gone.
Be mindful, you children
Don’t fail to hold on.
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