The Endless Rain

Didn't everyone, as a child, chant
convincingly to the rain that it had an
obligation to children to just go away
so they could do as children do, and play?
Rain, rain, go away, I urge, looking out
my front door at the unceasing downpour
from morning to night, and even as dusk
descends it continues to drench my spring
garden, the entire atmosphere, so that
the neighbourhood is warned of floods
and peoples' basements are afloat with
possessions, and a morose sense of dire
foreboding overtakes those whose
homes are located where premonition
and caution failed them. The sometimes
berserk nature of nature has declared a
time of concern for us, no longer children
no longer able to exert the magic of an
imploring, demanding, entitled child
threatening a tantrum should the rain not
deign to stop. As adults we know that
there is no hope to be had in persuading
that overpowering force to reconsider, that
we have no wish to be drowned in her
excess of elements storming our lives.