Rain and Puddles
(a Golden Shovel poem)
The sky lets loose its
bounty, so
campers dash to their
tents just past three.
It’s the stormy season of
the year.
Huddled in tents, the
young feel old
and the old feel like children.
The sun comes out, the
campers enter
the fray, splashing about
in puddles, the
end of the week, the devil-may-care
phase
of camping, jumping,
laughing, making fun of,
stomping, getting muddy, name-calling.
(from Child Development by Billy Collins)
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