Ivan’s Thoughts on Rain

I do not like rain. Mom, d’ya hear?
I do not like rain far or near.
I do not like rain. No, no, no.
When the grass is wet, I will not go.
I think I’ll hold it ‘til Flag Day at least.
This is stressin’ me out. See, my forehead is creased.

What if I melted, how sad that would be.
What if I melted, I know you’d miss me.
Dampness shouldn’t touch so much as a toe,
no rain, no wet grass. No, no, no.

I don’t like rain here or there.
I don’t like rain anywhere.
The grass is wet on both sides of the street.
I don’t like rain, and I hate wet feet.
You can’t blame me, I’m an African lad.
Down through the ages, wet feet were bad.

I think it’s dangerous, unhealthy to be sure.
For soggy white feet, there’s only one cure.
It’s treats, snuggles, and blankies galore.
Wait, I feel faint; I need chicken, more, more.
I just might survive having wet feet;
survival depends on one more treat.


Ivan hiding on a rainy day.