Caught in the rain, I do disdain
the use of bumbershoots.
Along with that, I wear no hat
or shiny knee-high boots.
I feel alive and even thrive
when rain falls on my head.
I’ve left behind, yes, have declined,
the shelter of a shed.
I’ve been entranced and sometimes danced
in showers from the sky,
and felt the love from up above;
I can’t explain just why.
It feels so cozy as I mosey
from my humble nest,
while an umbrella, my dear fella,
spoils what I like best.
I will not yield to use that shield
against the drizzly mist,
for then I’d miss the best of all --
the drops the angels kissed.
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