Waking to Rain - Feb. 15, 2025

you’d think raindrops would tire

all night, stampeding over the roof

with hard grunts as they hit the ground

yet, they still pour from the sky like restless children

     recessed on a Friday afternoon

sunrise remains asleep under a blanket of clouds

and the dog’s stay curled in tight warm apostrophes on the bed

and my tea tastes more like an old river today

and the world hangs its head

     not in sadness but surrender