When She Arrives

The rain never comes
when she arrives.
I'm sure it tries.
I'm sure the skies stretch out their arms,
to embrace her charms,
and thank God,
persuading sun to shine,
and proclaim worldwide wellness,
and other intangible qualities divine.

I'm sure the myriad invisible inaubible trumpets sound,
the ants bow to the ground
and sparrows raise tiny hats,
in respect of the money she throws around.

I'm sure that the trees just adore her big house,
and I'm sure that her visits
are preceeded by angel's blessings and many lovely sighs,
which is probably why it never rains
when she arrives.

© Mark Sheeky. Permission is required for reproduction.