Little love, all fast asleep.
The blackbird outside is singing in the rain. Leaves are freshly watered, the puddles are deep, and the ground is soggy.
“Lovely weather . . . for ducks”, I’m told. “Yes. But I’m not a duck, and I don’t like it!” I retort.
Spring has sprung, but she’s in hiding. I hope she reveals herself soon.
Rain, rain go away. Come again another day.
She sleeps still.