Full pots

Full pots

Two clouds like old women, their black skirts, billowing,
Lugged their heavy pots, of water,that they had been carefully, collecting,
Rumbling ,grumbling,
Rolled slowly, their looming shadows cast,
When suddenly, out of nowhere, the whistling wind blew past,
Like a young lad, on his cycle,without a care,
Pushed one old cloud into the other, without turning a hair,
When the pots crashed and broke with a bang,
The tiny drops ran out in glee and sang,
Tumbling, tinkling,their chorus of pitter patter,
Gurgling with delight, even as they slid down the gutter
Made their way down in a hurry,
To wet the earths' dry lips , in a musical flurry.

--shubha