Outside the raucous rain comes pelting down.
I’ve onetime watched in curious surprise
both ruin and rapture pouring from such skies,
replete with thunderous drums and lightning crown.
I’ve seen dull nature shift from brittle brown
to budding pinks and preening butterflies.
I’ve also watched the cold rain brutalize
the makings of a flowering fairy town.
Before and after rain reigns such extremes
of ruinous fire, indifference and ice
that to the sheltered looker-on it seems
the ecstasy of storm scarce worth its price.
Instead of passion’s moods and ructious schemes,
a balmy summer drizzle would be nice.