Saturday Rave: Rain by Robert Louis Stevenson.

 What makes a great poem?

Well, whatever it is, I'm fairly sure this poem doesn't have it. In fact, if it hadn't been for the fact that I had a strong need to rebel against the whole of my adoptive family, who despised all poetry (and fiction, for that matter) then Robert Louis Steveson's A Child's Garden of Verse (the book was originally published as A Child's Garden of Verses and Underwoods, whatever that means, but the title was truncated in my copy) might have been enough put me off poetry for life.

The illustrations were bland and childish, and, worst of all, you read the things but they got you nowhere: there was no plot. 

Still, April in England (like all other English months) is famous for its rain, so here is Stevenson's poem. 

Perhaps it's a work of genius and I just can't see it.

THE RAIN is raining all around,
It falls on field and tree,
It rains on the umbrellas here,
And on the ships at sea. *********************

I genuinely love poetry nowadays. 

Well, some of it.

Word To Use Today: rain. This word was regn in Old English.