Lady Rain

Sweet smelling is the summer day
When honest Lady Rain does fly
Draped in a lissome cloth of grey
She breaks into shifting skies

Like God’s own mercy does she fall
Interjecting on summer’s heat
Slow sweltering days that seem to crawl
Floutingly she seems to beat

What language does the thunder speak
As such that the lady can command
How her dulcet tones drum the beat
Reverence respect she demands

To which self doth the mulish lady go
From that which tarn did she derive
What path or road will she accept to flow
Unwillingly does she drive

Those who listen and that which hear
She oft speaks with a wit that’s wry
For who is there that does not fear
When the Lady utters a siren sigh