A rolling, growling, rumbling sound,
permeates throughout the ground.
In sudden, forking, sparking white,
the bloated sky is stabbed with light.
A single, oily, spotted spatter,
quick becomes an urgent slatter.
Soaking drops of blessed cool,
join gleeful hands to make a pool.
Come turn your face up to the rain
and let it wash away your pain.
Your empty heart, now brimmed with showers,
will soon be filled with lovely flowers.
Steven Mather