The clouds had hung like damp sheets for days.
The world, its spirit wrung, sopped,
Dripped on all and sundry like an incessant broken faucet.
The soil, moved to rain-rage and faucet-fury,
Rejected the wet and would take in no more.
Homeless puddles dribbled in waves seeking refuge,
And were turned away at all ports.
Green drooped in shame, allowing tears to assemble in silence.
But even damp sheets age.
With a final rip, frayed cloud gave way