Rain Dances.

Sticky wet mud lined the path, Sometimes thick as treacle sticking To boots sliding in the downpour, Puddles inviting you to enter their Dark domain. Spring here is more Wet than dry. Unhappy clouds wait To throw their heavy load sneering At the earth below with contempt While those who by some cruel fate Are out walking. Even the crows Sit heads bent, their patients a Lesson. Only the ducks are happy. Hungry snails sit eagerly eating their Own leaf plate that is a now a tasty Drink as well a worthy meal. Worms Boldly crawling over open ground Unafraid of blackbirds skulking Under thick curtains of bushes At the paths edge wearing wet coats And a resigned limp look in dark eyes. Sly fishermen on the banks of the Lake the path winds around focus On the dark water with hunched Backs in camouflaged waterproofs. Waiting patiently as the incessant rain Beats down with relentless monotony. Only the trees open their branches In welcome while daffodils droop Their wet heads in unnatural lines Like soldiers in rows on parade for A CO's inspection as I slowly walk past Inextricably linked with their wetness.