Older than many I am.
So Cal man.
When I was ten years old
I wrote a poem about a “windy day”.
My teacher was impressed.
She was so beautiful.
So I wrote an entire book of poems.
Mostly about rain and butterflies and such.
We never did marry.
Thought about that today.
It’s raining outside.
And California kids celebrate.
We walk right into it and just get wet.
Thirty-something’s make snarky remarks
When the old man steps into the falling clouds.
Does he have no reasoning?
Pretty good chance I don’t.
Care much about reason.
When a bit of wet.
Can make me ten again.
’67 was a pretty good year
A Little Rain Must Fall
