The Small Harold
Silvery, tarnished clouds cover the sky.
Just before the first clean,
drop falls, a single drop plunges,
of the entire storm,
milliseconds before the others fall.
Before rain can reach the ground, there needs to be one that fell first. No one ever sees it because it’s hard to gauge which one was actually first, and not a few seconds later, and whether there was one before that drop fell. Anyway, that’s my poem. (By the way, National Poetry and Writing Month seems to be working better than Post a Day 2011 did)