melissaahowells
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every October it
would be the same his troubles would slant in on him like rain 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 unprepared he was for all that rain he called himself Tsuris I heard him say it very loud and very plain he was irascible he was grumbling like the thunder he was as unpredictable as the weather he didn't know it but 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. Vote for this poem
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