Best of the days

It is not the best of days,
It is sunny and warm
The wayward clouds have lost their way

The dew has no time to pause
As the dawn reluctantly lingers,
and my words wither without a cause

On the best of days,
They rejoice and dance to the tune of the wind,
They revel in the dark spell of the clouds,
Joy they don't have to to feign,
On the best of the days it rains.

On days such as that,
I sit by the window and pen
my thoughts, my musings, my wishes
My words forget about why and when.

The pitter and the patter
wash clean the dusty panes.
I can see as clearly as the moving finger feels,
On the best of the days it rains.

It is not that day today.
It is sunny and warm.
The wayward clouds have lost their way !

On the best of the days it rains.