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Pitter Patter

— for T.K

Grey skies, soggy foliage

embraced by the child

His eyes filled with sparkles

eagerly he steps into the wild

Will it be fine, lumpy or sploshy this time?

Sheer anticipation dances in his fruitful mind

There is no need for umbrellas

he welcomes the tickles on his face

Slipping and sliding, distorting the puddle’s surface

For him you see, a bit of rain does not matter

Remember, the child’s bubble isn’t blighted by pitter-patter

— end

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