illustration by Cindie Flannigan
And now the warm winds come
As they always do
After the storm
To dry off the leaves
And send them out to play
And we will soon follow
Into the warm, windy, sunny day
Which is surely always
The best time to play.
Weymouth of Falmouth was lost in the fog,
his compass was gone—out of sight.
Lucky for him, the mist would soon thin…
when the sauna shut down for the night.
Clair de Lune looked up at the moon
While the wind whispered high in the trees
And the blue light of stars
Lit the valley afar
As it slept in the warm summer breeze.
The rain is falling on my head
It fills my waning soul
It motivates my spirit guide
Removes all trace of woe
Its music is the song of life
That wakes my sleeping youth
Oh, how I love the rain—but still,
I should probably fix my roof.
Really tall Ricky
Had just turned sixty
And it happened
Just as he feared…
That the clouds gathered ’round
And tried to make friends
With his puffy white sixty-year-old beard.
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