Stretched and hanging on the line,
Split-end clothes pins holding them tight.
Sheets, flapping in the breeze.
Rain is coming; you can see it on the mountain.
Hurrying to gather the sheets,
Forget the dropped clothes pins.
The smell of rain is near
A white curtain of mist is getting closer.
Dried sheets of summer share,
A welcome scent of freshness.
Rain dances on the tin roof,
Telling you a peaceful sleep waits.