Will the Rain Stop, Please?

I know that I should guard as treasure
every day of each year, every moment
of each day and that there is no telling
how many more days I will be allotted, but

it's raining again and the sky is filled
with grey misery and empty of hope,
the walls are damp, the basement floor
is wet and slick. I know that I should

be grateful, but my daughters have
swimming lessons scheduled in this cold
and the sunshine of my wife's happiness
is completely obscured. And I am tired

and staring at a squirrel standing on
the stump of a branch I cut last year
as it chews on something under the canopy
of leaves and ignorance that keep out

this weather. I wonder how it all gets to me
soaks into me through the roof and walls
and my professed faith in this world,
all of which ought to keep me warm and dry.