Scheming Sun

The slathering rain

Engulfs me. 

My feet feel, 

The gulf diffuse, 

In every puddle, 

I woefully disturb. 

My legs feel it worst, 

Hanging moisture, 

Precarious upon, 

The elastic make-up

Of the hair on my legs, 

Lapsing downward, 

To my feeble ankles. 

In the morning, worried, 


That never happens, 

Thinking that the sun, 

Would show an, 

Unexpected face, 

A smirk and a snarl, 

Somewhat duplicitous, 

The scheming sun, 

Alas it has not come. 


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