Daily poem 42: Never-ending

 

Never-ending rain

 

mud-squeak of path

where water seeps beneath plates of mud

 

clouds pour

ocean-swept torrents

of rain-swollen rivers.

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Published by

Jane Dougherty

I used to do lots of things I didn't much enjoy. Now I am officially a writer. It's what I always wanted to be.

18 thoughts on “Daily poem 42: Never-ending”

      1. The farmers get a different weather report to ordinary folk, and the neighbour we spoke to today said we were only going to get one sunny day then the rain would be back—so did we want the meadow mowing tomorrow? We don’t because the orchids haven’t all flowered yet.

      2. They get the forecast in hour by hour detail. That’s how they know when to mow. When we see a tractor out in a meadow at this time of year even if the forecast is for sunshine all week, we know it’s going to rain

    1. We had one in Bordeaux last year. Not exactly Bordeaux, not even out quartier of Bordeaux, just in our little ilôt of houses. It was perfectly calm, no wind, then out of the blue, there was a great gust that tore up a parasol from the terrace of a house about 50 metres away, whirled it up and round and dumped it in our garden. We were mesmerized. Nobody else noticed it…

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