When storm clouds clear
And Mom lets us outside
There’s just one thing that I see,
I’ll confide:

Not rainbows, although,
They’re certainly pretty.
Not the fresh sunbeams
That are drying the city.

Not the wet worms
Not the drenched cars or trees,
Not the once again buzzing about
Birds or bees.

While all of that stuff
Might make others’ focus muddled,
After rainstorms I only
Have eyes for puddles.

And when I get home
None of me clean or dry
Mom shakes her head
And wonders why,

“Why is it in puddles
You must run with such glee?”
“I can’t help it,” I say,
“They’re all that I see.”

MERRY LITTLE PUDDLE JUMPER – Ocean City, NJ 2015 (Photo – PaC)