It isn’t a reel that I dance

It is a close-quarter emissary that does it

And I watch.

For it is about to come, the real-whended useful noise

Called the rain.

Here it comes and there

It goes down the pipe

To the rain’s porter called the Butt.

But me when to see

But don’t ask when to pour as the rain

Shall be then and thent the need for water

Not Ale.

Copyright B E Saunders 2016

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