 | John Clare: The Midsummer Cushion |  |
SUDDEN SHOWER
Black grows the southern sky betokening rain& humming hive bees homeward hurry bye
They feel the change—so let us shun the grain
& take the broad road while our feet are dry
Aye there some dropples moistened in my face
& pattered on my hat—tis coming nigh
Lets about & find a sheltering place
The little things around like you & I
Are hurrying through the grass to shun the shower
Here stoops an ash tree—hark the wind gets high
But never mind this Ivy for an hour
Rain as it may will keep us dryly here
That little wren knows well his sheltering bower
Nor leaves his dry house though we come so near
| John Clare: The Midsummer Cushion | |