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Too Many Puddles

I once began a Monday morning,
with determination soaring.
I took a breath of fresh insight,
and stepped out into morning light.

I was moved by colors bright,
and sparrows praising end of night.
Caught up in this ode to day,
I longed to find a song and play.

Packed a smile and went my way,
if only I had chose to stay.
I soon arrived at destination,
was caught up in precipitation.

Thunderstorms of old frustrations,
filled the air, killed my elation.
All around me people frowned,
in puddles deep that flooded ground.

Could not escape unscathed and sound,
and soon I too was feeling down.
I sought a refuge from this storm,
and ended up all soaked and worn.

Too many puddles after storms,
where muddy views become the norm.
I'll go home and take a shower,
shaking off this muck for hours.

Tomorrow I shall gather flowers,
place one in the mud each hour.
Next time puddles block the path,
I'll see their beauty before the splash.

Learn more about this author, Scott Scherr.
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