Black grows the southern sky, betokening rain, <br />And humming hive-bees homeward hurry bye: <br />They feel the change; so let us shun the grain, <br />And take the broad road while our feet are dry. <br />Ay, there some dropples moistened on my face, <br />And pattered on my hat--tis coming nigh! <br />Let's look about, and find a sheltering place. <br />The little things around, like you and I, <br />Are hurrying through the grass to shun the shower. <br />Here stoops an ash-tree--hark! the wind gets high, <br />But never mind; this ivy, for an hour, <br />Rain as it may, will keep us dryly here: <br />That little wren knows well his sheltering bower, <br />Nor leaves his dry house though we come so near.<br /><br />John Clare<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sudden-shower/
