Rain, rain, go away, an oft heard refrain,
water-filled gardens, there’s too much to drain.

Parched earth will come, too soon I fear,
it always does in the heat of the year.

I then will complain,
I will miss all this rain.

My plants, will wilt, roots on fire,
the sun and the wind will surly conspire, an end to my garden, is what they desire.

Those days will make me regret the disdain
I feel for this relentless rain.

So I shall postulate no further, not another murmur from me.
For I have made peace with the endless torrents you see.

The showers bring May flowers, a gift from above,
my father has sent them, a sign of his love.

Mathew W. Gunter