“Rain, Rain, Go Away”. Jessie Wilcox Smith.

I share my slim exuberance under protection
of feathered reflections. My boost above puddles
hardly lifts my disappointment. Here, though,
lovers of adverse weather ask me
whether I am capable of listening,
or if I will succumb to these wet, persistent
splashes of consequence.

It is not enough today in wishing that I lower
my domed concealment. How long I must wait
for the bold strength of blue overhead wonder,
how tightly grip the top of flower-like stalk.
How must I find empathy with water-loving creatures
that stand and drift at my horizon.

A dispassionate embrace of our differences
lies in thin, muddy, puddled circles just below
the surface of our sensibility. I am given
to looking beyond my immediate gloom
for a loveliness and elegance, a common
experience of compatibility and understanding.

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