There are holes in the skyWhere the rain gets inBut they're ever so small,That's why rain is thin.Spike Milligan
I learnt this poem from my grandparents, who loved to read us Spike's poems. It reminds me of visiting at their place...
air filled with the smell of sawdust and varnish
sitting on paisley flannelette cushions
eating home crumbed fried flathead
bobbed haircuts courtesy of Emily
goodbye dances in the middle of the road
treadle Singer sewing machine
all sitting in the fold-out sofa bed watching Charles marry Diana
they never smoked, but had an ashtray that spun the ash away
small, idiosyncratic, precious memories prompted by the rain today. Does that happen to you?