Now, here's a fine, rain-clear tale.
What's great? "Their creaking glockenspiel rockers." And, "tilted his gold railroad watch like the warm summer moon in his palm." The warm summer moon! And these are only in the first page!
Miss Hillgood can be my muse anytime. I've lived in places like this, and Bradbury evokes the dry, baked-air madness with perfect clarity. He takes me back, and then he washes my face with much-needed rain. He has several stories where rain plays a prominent role, but this is the best.
I love reading this one out loud.
one day there was rain
It brought him much pain
inside he was locked
his feet have been socked
sitting alone on the couch
eating fruit loops from my pouch
the rain last for years to come
the poem here is now forever done
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