The shower is past, the sun breaks out again,
And sets the road-sides sparkling with the rain.
The road itself a long brown ribbon shines,
And lures the eye with its retreating lines.
The sleepy gossip of a meadow moon
Comes woven with a little brook's low croon.
In the hot midsummer day the cool of rain
Is felt elusive as the scent of grain.
Some bird flirts down a wee, belated shower;
A bee flies laden from a kindly flower;
The warm clean smells, breathed in at every pore,
Lure back the gipsy to the road once more.