Streams of water tumble down
From clouds that nearly touch the ground,
Appearing like a pale-gray gown
That shrouds the air, and rhythm’s found
Within the rumble of the hail
Which pounds below, while thunder drums on high.
The storming slows. Light thins the veil.
Remaining droplets hanging from the rail
Are lenses toward a distant bright blue sky,
Prefiguring what peace will follow nigh.
It's been raining pretty frequently here - it often doesn't last very long, but it can get pretty hard while it is raining. I was actually caught in a brief cloudburst as I was walking home a few days ago - I've started a poem about that, but it's not done yet. The poem here is about an afternoon storm from a couple weeks ago - it came and went quickly, and then the sun began to come out afterward.
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