The Rain

I don't think I've posted this one yet. I'm not sure if I like the rhythmn either, but maybe you will. Enjoy.

*
In England, in the summertime
It rains; or so they say. I've never been.
But then again, in autumn, when
The wellies come galoshing through the way
In rhythm with the never-ending chime
Of bells,
It rains.

The never-ending chime of city bell
Rings loud, rings long, and through a sleepless night
Reminds, rewinds, unbinds the mind
Of homework, duty, home - and ties so strong
Connecting with that strange familiar smell
Of cold
Wet rain.

An unwhole heart reflects on things,
On life, on love, perhaps on death as well -
The tolling bell, the morbid knell -
But murmur of a heartbeat does not lapse
In vain; instead, in pulsing rhythms sings
Along
With th'rain.

Enough of this! The rain still falls
And conversation stirs the soul
To surge, emerge from hole, like Mole
Or Rat or Bear, who know to not be shunned
They must emerge, and hear the others call
To play
In rain.

And here they come, galumphing up
With slickers, macs and hats. Enthusedly
They splash, they dash in mad, mad glee
Through waterways between mansion and shack.
The animals play, enjoy the bright clear
Colour
Of rain.

A little giddy, I smile too
And watch the paper tigers sweltering,
Absorbing glistening, glittering
Drops of liquid gems into their long white fur.
I glance out the window and smile at the blue
Bubbly
Rain.