The rain stopped in the morning

The morning begins with  rain  bird
Cuckoo trying to sing  for more rain 
Wet rain on morning roads bringing
A few fallen leaves, mirrors of puddles
A dead night's moths lying sprawled
On the window sills   remembering
Brief lives of fewer regrets, forgotten
Death events, a sun looking away.

Birds are up and about, competing
In their throaty songs with crickets
The last vestiges of a just closed night.
They   go into a huddle, their music
Touching the hem of the sky softly
 In silks treasured in blushing clouds.

Now there is silence in  white clouds
The sun gently peeping out making
Clouds blush more, for alleged failure.
There is  no rain,  a sun goes crimson
 Much promise but  little  performance .
Thunder went quickly dead,  lightning
All a swagger,  nothing  much to show
Only a few chalk lines behind the hills.

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