The Fine Rain

The fine rain,
Forms big drops,
Comes trickle falling,
From tall tree tops,

Assembled and collected,
By leaves on Boughs,
Poured on my head below,

As I shelter now,

I may as well face the rain.

I am taken back, on that school trip ,
To that forest place again,
When with twenty other boys, stood beneath Chestnut
Whilst the drizzle wains,

 

Water cascading,
down my neck and my nose,
Whilst it was dry outside,
And nobody knows,
But under the shelter,
It flows like a hose,

Dispensing water collected twenty minutes ago,

Perhaps this shelter has served it's purpose,
It's delayed the rain,
But still it dispersed this,

And maybe I should have faced the rain.

 

The honest to God,
Bone chilling,
Sense numbing,
Soul stirring rain.