A fortuitous conjunction of prompts – Rain from the Grenada camp for wayward poets and a serious attempt to make us use metaphor and imagery at the Poets’ pub led to a confrontation between me and my bête noir, giving rise to this effusion.
Someone up there turned on the tap
and pulled out the plug,
to unleash Niagara on an unsuspecting world.
The ants scurried hither and yon
in search of shelter
under the coverlet of a leafy haven
and dryads danced with naiads
in an ecstasy of nature.