Two Gray Mornings

Your face reflected in each raindrop,
falling in each open singing mouth
a taste of Bach to wet the tongue--
a splendid Paris morning decked in gray,
shimmering of fairy wings.

(but I must read between the lines
or else sing only C and E and G
and B and D,
n’est ce pas?
Without a laugh I could not rhyme or sing.)

On this rainy morn in Oregon
starlings invade my porch
and chuckle as they pinch the kibble
blatantly, right from the dog’s own bowl!
Not so inspiring, but it’s worth a grin.