Downpour

A winter’s downpour
After a long drought.

On my childhood farm,
When rain splattered the puddles
And, bending down, mud would
Ooze between my fingers, and 
Earthworms would slither out,
I’d spend the day outside
Heedless of wet, or wind,
For it was rarely cold.

The rain was welcomed then
As welcomed now, although
With age, it seems 
I’m rarely warm.

But the tinkling of
Drops splattering in 
Puddles or on sidewalks
Still delight.