The monsoons came
louder than the stereo
in my car
pelting hard on the rooftop
with a rain of bullets.
Wipers swish and swoosh
struggling to contain the water
to the confines
of their rubber dams,
the swoosh is washed away
leaving an obscured road...
Swish swish swish
squelched wheels
comes to a stop.


While reading this poem, I imagined how intense life must be; way over there in the land of Éire - cold, frozen winters, always drizzling, in the rainy season of springtime - and probably summer and fall, too - and I'm wondering how you are able to cope and make it through all the extreme weather on your magical island. I suppose it must be magical, for why else would the Irish be so hardy, loyal, and proud of their ruggedly beautiful homeland?!!? This poem reminds of of the You Tube video, "The Blood Of Cu Chulainn" Ireland:
And I remember that every one of us has a choice to turn toward the sun, yet blessings from the rain are bestowed upon everyone... 
Loves ya, xx Cyn 






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