Revolution

Revolution is when it rains in July
In a part of the world where this doesn’t usually apply;
Where summer is summer,
Rain is improper,
Though in winter,
Snow might be your daily supper.

The trees gasped for breath as the rain poured,
A surprise shower is something they adored,
Reviving their being, drenching them in laughter,
The cool wind slapping their lofty posture,
The pine emitting a smell leaving you in a crush,
The earth sending a fragrance so wild and fresh,
Birds crazily fluttering under the shock,
Unable to tell the difference between a sparrow and a duck,
Wild cats scurrying not to get their fur wet,
Wishing they were somebody’s pet,
Sleeping cozily heedless of the weather,
Purring softly, no need to bother.