Rain in April

[a Petrarchan Sonnet]

In a tropical month of the fourth
There is but a wind as gentle as brush
and old pasture would be the new lush
Bringing a set of tiny footsteps forth

But the heat can be that of west by north
When water is pulled with an upward flush
Then below again, an alien of gush
A repeat from before the month of the fourth

Though there I see the pitter-patter
that challenge the steam like unflinching geese

As the cold absence of usual chatter
warm the chill with the tropic and her fleece

Thus when the ardent sky makes a splatter
It is not for flooding, but for release

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