Drizzle, you are
a salty block of ice,
a soapy bubble on the window.
I hear you
shattering like a glass vase.
I see you,
a hollow hallway.
You are a
soft, fresh breeze of leaves
falling on the hard, dull concrete.
People insult you,
saying you come to make kids
miserable because they can’t play.
If you never happened,
our plants would die
of thirst.
And if
it isn’t good for children to play in,
then I shall say to myself,
I love when it drizzles.
It feels so fresh.

by Fadila, 5th grade

Photo by johngarghan via Flickr

This poem is featured as part of the 2011 A Poem A Day campaign, a National Poetry Month celebration by WITS that features a different poem by a WITS student every day during April. Click on the logo to the left to learn more.

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