Kyle Inducil, member 39967, sent us this poem about rain and the skies.

Rainstick

I stand a weary, old man
and teeth marks cover my cane
I raise its curved end and plan
to smash the sky when it rains

My umbrella flew away
and my hat was on the run
The winds had lead me astray
to a place without a sun

I bite the cane that feeds me
as though it were a raw sweet
Clouds gather, the storm shall be
with my teeth-chattering treat

I, upright until it snaps,
let the ground, then me, collapse
A cirrus shape takes my place
with candy floss’s aftertaste

© Kyle Inducil