To The Rain Poem by chayamsu v r

How long i've been looking forward
to that day you come to me and clad?
but you like the breath of a breeze,
like a one-day winter freeze*
came and gone, quite unknown
why, not to anyone known.

my dear rain, my dear rain
you are to serve others, aren't you? *
the rain is tagged, on this earth, here,
with clouds above, in the blues, there
with a rope of malicious question,
'you did go hastily,
dribbling, to wet me simply,
and passed past, did you? '

like all the english teachers,
-some would be the hampers^-
i never nicknamed you, 'question tag! '*;
never never cared for a cane to darn,
on the ignorant**, with innocence, born.
with talent they gave you a name,
and brought you all a kind of fame-
'the snuff', 'mustache', 'the long stick'-,
all such were they in our mind stuck.
but 'you did go hastily,
dribbling, to wet me simply,
and passed past, did you? '
is but to name, a question tag,
we can see what does it mean.

this is not simply such a tag,
it's a puzzle, a fight of tug.
all these are now, wanting rain.
when the mother of rain,
hears the curses, wow! :
'what a blistering heat! ',
when it's drought and drought;
'what a heavy rain! '
when a gang of silvern fiber,
brings a gay tie up in the faber
patio, yards and the woods,
with the clouds astray up,
on or before they fall from top.
given you a life, a cloud nine
to that mother of rain?
to that mother of rain?

see how she can send her here,
into the drought bowels of yours,
who, now and then curse,
to see and not to see, here.