The rain is tapping out its morning song –
A music not so common on the coast.
Awaking, I am sure there’s nothing wrong…
…Or is there? I’ve been sleeping all night long
and ninjas creeping in would mean I’m toast.
The rain is tapping out its morning song,
I’ll listen and relax, and groove along
to Fred Astaire rehearsing as a ghost.
I’m saying there is nothing wrong, and yet
I joke as if I’m trying to belong
to funny-people clubs that like to boast
that rain is tapping out their morning song.
And how do raindrops feel among the throng
that skydives every roof from post to post?
I’m not so sure they feel there’s nothing wrong.
Suspicious coda rousing me at dawn –
a time when one could use assurance most –
the rain is tapping out its morning song,
a whisper: nothing wrong, there’s nothing wrong…