You can call me a wet blanket

But I love to see the rain;

I'm always sure to thank it

When I see it back again.

 

I love to look outside at clouds,

Hovering overhead like shrouds

Or veils barely hiding tears

Witnessing the passing biers.

 

Sun-worshippers may think me mad,

A perverse sort of chappie -

But I say to them I'm just so glad

To be wet - and be happy.

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