every October it
would be the same
his troubles would slant in on him
I asked him
because I knew him
or so I thought I did
why had he traveled so far across the country
to a land in a place where it rained
the way it did
he didn't have the answers
he only said how it rained
and that the rain troubled him so
he didn't carry an umbrella
nor wear a mackintosh
nor have an oar
to paddle his boat
he wasn't collecting animals 2x2
for all that rain
he called himself
I heard him say it
very loud and
he was irascible
he was grumbling like the thunder
he was as unpredictable
as the weather
he didn't know it
he was the rain.
Copyright September 20, 2014
All Rights Are Reserved By This Author
Meloo/Melissa A Howells straight from her Tilt-a-World
All ideas/prose/poetry/rants are the legal property of this Writer
There's a person who bears partial resemblance
to this poem. He's a bear of man. Yet I adore him.
We are all, in our own ways, are we not,
unpredictable, grumbling, irascible. No one
escapes this. It is what makes us human.
We love people in spite of their flaws. Why?
Because we have them too? Well, partially, yes.
Partially, too, because its their flaws that make
them who they are to us. Think about it.
Tsuris is the Yiddish word for Trouble.
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