The barren rain makes me wet
It grows no crop.

The concrete street –
hard to till.
It will
Yield nor corn nor wheat.
The raindrops
On umbrellas, rooftops,
on my head, around my feet.
No umbrella have I.
Above me, a dark threatening sky
Roars and pours.

The blare of horns, the drone of machinery
Drowns the music of the raindrop.
Rain in the city is barren.
It grows no crop.