Listening to the rain #SOL15

My dad always told us his favorite poem was Fog by Carl Sandburg.I’m not sure he liked it because of what it said or because it was a short one he could remember.

 

The fog comes

on little cat feet.

It sits looking

over harbor and city

on silent haunches

and then moves on.

I spoke to my soon to be 84 year old mom on the phone yesterday and she told me it was foggy where they lived, and it hadn’t burned off as she had expected. I told her we were having fairly heavy rain and it seems will continue today and into tomorrow. Here is the forecast:

It rained steadily all night and I had the window open because I like to listen to the sound of rain at night. It brings back a lot of memories. Good ones mostly. So, I thought I would try my hand at creating a Carl Sandburg-like poem about the rain.

The rain comes

on centipede feet.

It runs swiftly

over rooftop and eaves

flowing down drainpipes

and then moves on.