Waiting at the Window

I woke this morning to the sound of raindrops on the roof. And, for the first time in a very long while, eagerly awaited sunrise to greet them.
So little, so late--another drought for the Midwest.

Through the sparse brown grass on the lawn, the dry earth is easily seen. Open areas have become dust bowls, where birds gladly fluff their feathers, as if in water--the fine particles of our clay soil, a smooth and cleansing dry bath.

More bad news of the global economic decline leads the day's broadcasts.
And I feel somehow we have seen this before.
Families watching their lives blow away, arms around each other. Helpless to catch it.
Waiting at the window--
for change.

Waiting at the Window

by A.A. Milne


These are my two drops of rain
Waiting on the window-pane.

I am waiting here to see
Which the winning one will be.

Both of them have different names.
One is John and one is James.

All the best and all the worst
Comes from which of them is first.

James has just begun to ooze.
He's the one I want to lose.

John is waiting to begin.
He's the one I want to win.

James is going slowly on.
Something sort of sticks to John.

John is moving off at last.
James is going pretty fast.

John is rushing down the pane.
James is going slow again.

James has met a sort of smear.
John is getting very near.

Is he going fast enough?
(James has found a piece of fluff.)

John has quickly hurried by.
(James was talking to a fly.)

John is there, and John has won!
Look! I told you! Here's the sun!