This rain that wears no raincoat
and has no claim on me
would just as soon I were the moon
now floating out to sea.
This rain that scorns galoshes
and rails at bonhomie
would suffer ill repute to boot
a hooligan like me.
This rain that thinks umbrellas
and plastic hats are twee
would find it hardly suitable
that you now shelter me.
This rain that falls in buckets,
then sets those buckets free
to sail away, extempore,
means not a whit to me.
This rain that washes windows
and falls by clouds' decree,
then reaches for a rainbow's hand
has nothing over me.