Morning After the Rain by John Perry
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Morning After the Rain
by John Perry
The rain must have come and gone
early this morning.
It had to be after midnight
because I didn't hear raindrops
dancing on the shingles
before I fell asleep.
And when I awoke
there was only the tap... tap... tap
of occasional drops
sliding from the eaves
and the broad leaves of the Sycamore
outside the bedroom window.
Runoff puddles the pansy beds,
bows the heads of lilacs
that perfume the front steps.
It chases fat earthworms onto the sidewalk
where the neighbor's cat
paws them into twitchy wiggles.
Sunlight slips across the boulevard,
climbs the backs
of wine-colored Crepe Myrtles
and snow-white Azaleas
that guard their shadows like mother hens.
The sun dries wigglers into contorted sculptures.
The cat uninterested in motionless toys
tiptoes across the damp lawn
shakes rainwater from its paws
climbs the front porch steps
and curls up next to a rocking chair
just outside the reach of shadows.