Swift Summer Showers Poem by C Richard Miles

White clouds shift cool and ceaselessly across the summer sky
Chased by their blacker brethren who don’t mean to keep us dry
And, as the rain-front sweeps its curtains closed across the scene,
At least the dust-dry park is pleased as yellow yields to green.
Revived by rain, the wilting flowers lilt out again their hue
And, as the sun breaks through the grey, the sky soothes with its blue
The storm-soaked folk that paddle puddles splashing in their rush
To hurry home to dry drenched clothes or steam upon the bus
Whose misted windows fog with fug till cheeky children’s hands
Scrawl coarse inscriptions in some language no-one understands.
Swift summer showers, you set in motion mixed emotions, yet
Dry-desert dearth would un-inspire if there were no more wet.