The hint of graying skies some disdain;
they shun the advancing sheet of rain.
I would linger slowly in the lane
to smell the acrid air advanced by rain.
Harkening to storm - the horses' manes,
bodies quiver, shimmer, streaked with rain.
The wretched wind reels and twists the vane
south west north east comes the rain.
Dominant the flood spreads its domain
over shingled walls rippling with rain.
Hail riddles the roof drums a refrain
shivering windows shed tears of rain.
Slow, stolid, blue and gray a heron
perches unperturbed by sizzling rain.
Rending foundations sandbagged in vain,
churning earth to splashing mud, this rain.
Soft, the breath of earth, mist, marks the wane
rising to herald the end of rain.
I would linger longer where I've strayed
in time suspended within the rain.
(revised on May 12, 2012 to more closely follow ghazal form)
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