The tortoise shell umbrellas spread like gospel tents
Against the drumming rain and sailing mournful wind
Huddled shadows; turned up collars braced into tinsel-tiny
Pearls; each spherical world; a sea of wayfaring minstrels
Tambourines rattled down puddles; gurgled in gutters
Danced on windowpanes and slid down shutters
Across vaulted awnings of coffee shops and cafes
Rivulets of silver wound through dirt of an ordinary day
And all the busy people with briefcases under overcoats
Were frightened of the water army; a billion droplets strong
They could find no place for music in their souls; a saddened note
Where the rain, like pain, is feared and has no place to belong
A madman; soaked hair streaming down his shoulders
No hat or spring loaded dome of protection held in hand
Grasped above his head a gray newspaper unfolded
And skipped across brown potholes; laughing as he ran
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