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.