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A FOOL IN THE RAIN
Leaves toss to shed the falling rain.
Try as they might they remain wet
while clouds above them drip and drain.
And the storm is not done yet.
The same drops smite my weathered hat
whose wide brim keeps my old neck dry.
But I grow damp in spite of that
like all who walk beneath gray sky.
The ground is soaked as is my staff
so I make my way most carefully
while nearby brooks fill up and laugh.
I guess that they're chuckling at me.