To my dismay, it’s misting here today;
We really could have used some proper rain.
Instead of play in puddles or in spray,
One must negotiate unsafe terrain.
For when in drought, and it is misting out,
The oil and dirt rise, but don’t wash away.
So do not shout, if, when you walk about,
You skid and slide, your limbs in disarray.
Though one may hate mist’s properties innate,
The way it thwarts umbrellas on the breeze
Is rather great, though it makes one irate,
And mist up noses makes one prone to sneeze.
O playful mist who descends and ascends,
We hope you bring your bigger droplet friends.