The pit pattering has stopped
The roof now knows silence
No more tiny drops on its head.
The grass welcomes the wetness
With a glowing green,
With each leaf making a small shiver in gratitude.
However, the ground is a field of mud
Red glue sticking cozily to your skin
As your legs wade through.
Though the heavens released a ball of showers
Even though the grass shivers in ecstacy
The ground only feels remorseful.