Meryl Stratford
Aubade
after Mayakowsky
When I went walking one morning,
the clouds went walking with me,
wearing their grey trousers,
flaunting their sun-dresses of white lace,
hinting, as they do, of rain.
The trees stood patiently, waiting,
the trees in their green bonnets,
whispering, rain, rain.
A breeze came hurrying toward me,
naked, perfumed with blossoms,
promising rain.