Rain
The aged poet lies abed
Listening to the falling rain
Tap dancing on some metal roof.
Ever since he could remember
Rain has been a fascination
For him, writing sundry poems
About this heavenly liquid.
He doesn’t know exactly why
But rain always precipitates
A flood tide of inspiration.
Once again the propensity
Immerses him entirely;
This time in an unlit bedroom
With a single theme in mind: rain.
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