The wind is breathless,
her face is red.
The barometric pressure
does a strip tease
behind the curtains.
The clouds are pregnant,
screaming thunder.
The trees shrink
behind the shed
for fear of hail.
The sun scoots to the mall
for a sale on umbrellas.
We’re all waiting for the drops to fall.
We’re waiting for the rain.
published on Sonnets to Sing
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