Yonder, in nonchalance,
the raindrops revel.
Their gracefully relentless,
yet beautifully petered dance,
its divine crescendo,
essence, and pure will,
gets unjustly measured;
pitted against the actors
in the foreground...
But, ah yes, they all danced.
Seven young women,
two red umbrellas,
three men with no raincoats,
four children with clean slates,
and there…
My daughter’s priceless game of
hide, seek, stomp, and catch:
Yes, she loves chasing the clouds,
the rain becomes her.
I’m drenched!
— Leslie
(Poem: It's but divine to join the raindrops in a heavenly dance. I did not. They did... Leaving me drenched and laden with a few lines.)
