Maisey's Rainy Day
Maisey's mom doesn't want to go out.
Splash, splash, splash.
"I don't want to go out in the pouring rain."
I want to go back to bed and think warm thoughts.
Little pink riding hood
in her raincoat and boots
"Mommy can I ride my bike to grandma's?"
"In the rain Maisey?
Even the cats don't want to go out!
It could float you away."
Splash, splash, splash.
"Mommy, I will stay on the path,
and try to miss all the puddles."
"Maisey, it is raining so hard
I can only see about 2 feet in front of me."
splash, splash, splash.
"I don't want to go out in the pouring rain."
Little Pink Riding hood.
in her raincoat and boots.
Maisey wants to ride her bike in the rain.
She'll ride right through the puddles
and splash, splash, splash.
Maisey Jean rides in the rain,
splash splash splash.
Roaring through puddles with a laugh.
Splash splash splash!
"I'm gonna be so wet when I get to grandma's."
Little pink riding hood
in her raincoat and boots
rides through the pouring rain,
giggling and pedaling,
down the path to grandma's house.
splash, splash, splash.
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RAINING RAINBOWS
Reds, oranges, yellows, blues, Among raindrops; she skips, Into the puddles all around. Now it's raining rainbows, Iridescent colors abound. Near and far Maisey May runs, Green boots splash green puddles. Reds, orange, yellows, blues Among raindrops; she skips Into puddles all around. Now it's raining rainbows. Big plops of colors slip from Overhead rainbows to the ground. "Wow, it is like heaven came down!" Silly Maisey May giggles and dances around.
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Taste Of Falling Rain
Nature's sweet wine slowly quenches thirst. I taste the falling rain. Delicate on my tongue; I taste rose petals mixed with pure satin. I taste the nectar, a gift from God upon my parched soul. I taste the falling rain mixed with pure satin upon my parched soul.
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DANCING IN THE RAIN
Dry feet were never our thing.
Another downpour caught us,
Not quite near enough to shelter.
Canvas sneakers soon soaked
In the quick forming puddles.
No reason to complain or lament
Green fields darkened with rain.
Instead of hurrying along,
Nowhere special to go,
The mists enchanted us.
Here we stopped to play.
Etnies and Nikes removed,
Red toe socks bared,
A slow tango we began,
Increasing in rhythm.
Now we dance in the rain.
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Mount Rainier
Magnificent Mount Rainier,
Olympic kissed in Washington,
Under the wide heavens’
Night skies;
Towers in the darkness.
Rains fall on Rainier’s
Ascending crags.
Ice and snow soon follows.
Now my hiking boots,
Ice pick, backpack and dreams,
Everything I am are lost
Rainier wins in this nightmare.
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South Dakota
What do you know
About those carved heads,
badlands
And rolling fields of grain
In South Dakota?
What do you know
Of anywhere
That your feet
Have not actually touched
And eyes
Not actually seen?
What do you know
In your empty head?
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Restless Times change, sad dreams remain. I had great summer plans for me and you in the way that sometimes I plan more than just love and cuddling, and can follow through. The best laid plans they say often go awry. Your parents interceded, decided you would bend to their will and capitulate, and spend the summer with them and in classes, leaving me alone again. I am restless and it hurts my heart to think I may leave your love and once again strike out to find what I think I need. I see it coming down my highway like a runaway-to-ruin truck. Dreams change. I am left with sad thoughts of time spent with you.
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An Outhouse Is Leaning
Modernization slowly caught up. Gone are tracts of black-dirted farm land, strait rows and tree lines. Each place resplendent with farm house and red barn full of golden hay bales. Now the land lays empty and rolling, overgrown with bunched prairie grass and rampant with thick wild brush. Crab apple trees slowly rot and lean, a victim of ceaseless wind and neglect. In the mostly disappeared gravel drive, hunter's trucks park and then wander, leaving behind empty cans and bottles and the ghosts of Dunkin Donut boxes to slowly be assimilated into landscape. An outhouse is leaning like a drunk. Legions of sagging rotted fence posts held up by strands of rusted barbwire slowly sink into a quiet oblivion. Modernization inevitably catches up.
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Fog Rising
woke early enough
to see the fog
rising off the river
On another
ice rained winter’s day
And I wonder
If Mother Nature
Knows that even
The weather
Isn’t cooperating.
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