Rain plunks babbling drops on the skylight glass above…
( jazzy counterpoints of
ebb and roll
singing a sweet, wet, tinkling blues.
Shiny, chartreuse oak leaves
born just days ago
joyfully jiggling under the gurgling drizzle.
Spring froths forth, foaming green.
My eyes limp across this languid scene.
The dripping tunes, tipping drooping leaves
become my only need.
I’m a little late with this poem, which was written in late Spring. I tried to imitate the rhythms of the dripping drops in the poem.