You hear that patting?

You hear that patting?

That with the rolling thunder in between?
You smell that wet brick?
That mixed with the freshness of green?

I try listening to her

To what she wants to say

To what she wants me to hear

Her laughter, shrieks, cry or dare

 She comes, announces and lets

Everyone know of her being there

She talks of all she cared to hold

For long before being bare

Relieved and light

Heaving sighs she would leave

Drenching all, would she sometimes

Thank me with her colours and some sheen

Just that tears do not pat

And the moist eyes do not smell

Otherwise speak both together

And speak their rhetoric well