Rain in the tent

We spent some time together going camping on a hill
The birdsong sweet, the daytime warm, and evening crickets shrill.
We talked all day and walked the fields and drank wine from a box.
We shared our thoughts about the world and gathered flowers and rocks.
The sun was hot, that afternoon, and hazy clouds had formed.
The evening air grew chilly, then, the sky blustered and stormed.

At first we thought the rain would stay outside the tent all night.
But well before the break of day, something wasn’t right.
The sound of rain, when gently falls, is steady, smooth and sweet.
Instead, a heavy dripping calls, with a slower threatening beat.
And soon, the drops upon my face, no longer just cool breeze.
The fall of tears from icy space, has caused my heart to freeze.
The rivulets of trespassed rain went into bed and clothes.
The dams of towels could not restrain the multitudinous flows.
Finally we were conquered there, and sought some refuge fit.
So underneath the mattress where the raindrops could not hit.
Sadly, though the shallow flood and the deluge did not stop.
The standing water chilled our  blood, and made our beds a sop.
And there across the misty house, my fellow drowned soul
Was looking like a woodland mouse, just peeking from his hole.
His mood had never lost its cheer, not handsome face its smile.
And this is why I’ll keep this guy, my friend, for quite a while.

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