A Cold Summer Day

A little something I wrote when it was raining in the middle of the summer.

A gush of wind and trees dance mid air,
Another gush and leaves rustle in the fair,
It's cold and raining, a festival of breeze
in the finale of May, and all animals freeze.

It's a cold summer day, to a poet's delight,
Every gaze trails the bird's flight
Probably to its nest or a place to hide.
I open my mind's window. Work left aside.

Alas, the wind and the rain is only a fleeting scene,
Replaced by sun and its beaming heat.
As the sunlight hits the rain's sheen
All and sundry resume their work beat.

The warm blanket which, a minute ago, was a pleasure
Is now, just an innocuous leisure.
From a distant branch, comes the sound of a bird,
To remind me that life is as transient as a summer rain's word.

Author's Note

"The summer rain's word" depicts the assurance for comfort that the rain promises. (The middle of June is usually unbearably hot, therefore it promises a relief from the heat.) Of course, it isn't able to keep its promise as the clouds clear in a matter of minutes and the sun begins to radiate its process of calefaction of Earth.