RAIN
The rain fell forty days and forty nights,
Flooding forests, meadows and dells;
How hard it fell, dimming the daylight
While I, at my window, experienced peculiar delights.
For forty days and forty nights, a water-logged world sang
Hymns to the low, black clouds of cascading downpours,
Tear-filled verses rang poignant pleadings.
Yet, without respite, the rains fell and all seemed hopelessly lost,
As the deluge drowned out the chantings, poured forth its wrath.
The voices rose higher and higher vexing the Source.
At last one cloudless morning the tambourining droplets ceased,
Amok rivers, streams and brooks began to recede;
All agog people rushed to celebrate the Event with a grand feast
I, indolently, shut my shutters, rather indifferent to say the least.
Paul Mirabile is a retired professor of philology now living in France. He has published mostly academic works centred on philology, history, pedagogy and religion. He has also published stories of his travels throughout Asia, where he spent thirty years.
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