The Rain That Day
The sky was gray that day.
Not the harsh color of an angry Mother, but
The fluffy gray from the brush of a kind artist.
The wind was a quiet child amusing herself.
It was the sweetest rain I ever saw.
A cool, April rain to be sure,
Gentle as a baby's fingers
Softer than down from a spring chick.
Its fuchsia orchids spent,
I saw outside my window
The tiny green hearts of the red bud tree.
They promised a sizzling summer portrait.
The stone walls took on a new mossy coat
And became landing pads for the blue jays.
The tired daffodils
Done with their display, snoozed.
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