December at My Door

It is raining outside my door.

A downpour of pellets

pierce and poke

  coppery vines,

 like an old, itchy cloak!

 Diagonally, the droplets dive

onto thirsty fields,

and 'expectant' groves,

as boughs bearing
gifts of citrus and olives
drink, rest, and grow,
before the upcoming 
first fall of snow. 

In seconds, 
sculpted black balconies
are squeaky clean;
their engraved, tangled vines
buffed to a sheen.

Geraniums, splattered and splashed,

 petals of red, pushed, shoved and lashed,

struggle against the rain's beating hand,

prevailing over its force, in the end.

 This morning,
December rain
knocked on my door, 
and tapping the doorbell, 
it begged and implored
for my undivided attention.
So, I listened: all morning,
and into the eve,
until, tired and drained,
the rain took its leave.

Thanks for visiting!

 Happy December!

xo

Poppy 

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