The wet afternoon

It has been raining all day and curiously a fifty year old memory floats into my mind.

‘It’s Raining, It’s Pouring’,

Oh how this rain and the rhyme are so boring,

‘Not made of sugar,’ my gran used to shout,

‘Go put on a jerkin and get yourself out

in the fresh air all the good air…’

Who were you to worry with nay a care.

She was right of course….

and a wry smile you just manage to force.

Then in the growing puddles you splash

Before back to the warm kitchen you dash

Only to be told, ‘Hold on there sunny’,

and you grin although it’s not really funny

‘Wasn’t my idea was it,’ you manage to moan

as the wetness drips large on freshly cleaned stone

‘I wanted to stay in but someone said….’

But you daren’t finish the comment for fear of an early bed.

Hot buttered crumpets appear as if from nowhere

and near the fireplace you huddle with nay a care,

Gran pats your head gently and quietly chuckles,

‘You’ll be right lad, what’s a few puddles’.

Nay a Care
Nay a Care

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