Meryl Stratford
           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.