The rain drums down like red ants, <br />each bouncing off my window. <br />The ants are in great pain <br />and they cry out as they hit <br />as if their little legs were only <br />stitched on and their heads pasted. <br />And oh they bring to mind the grave, <br />so humble, so willing to be beat upon <br />with its awful lettering and <br />the body lying underneath <br />without an umbrella. <br />Depression is boring, I think <br />and I would do better to make <br />some soup and light up the cave.<br /><br />Anne Sexton<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-fury-of-rain-storms/
