A Rainy Fourth
A Poem, By Gertrude Short
Another holiday has been ruined by rain once more;
A picnic lunch and a party had been planned for four.
But the clouds are still gathering and the rain still falls,
And the thunder is roaring loudly and lightning coming in fiery balls.
Faint in the distance I hear a train roaring down the track,
And the sound of a car engine grinding away -- wheels mud-packed.
The traveling is very bad;
But to think this thought I'm glad:
That our boys are not tramping in the rain
Fighting and dying for victory in vain.
One hundred and sixty-six years ago today
Our forefathers were down on their knees to pray.
That day a very sacred document was signed
Which ended a fear that cannot be defined.
Today the people of Europe hold that same fear,
But we're safe in a home with our loved ones so dear.
Let's not think of this day as spoiled by the rain,
But sing out our thanks in a joyous refrain!
This poem was published in my hometown newspaper, the Friona Star, in 1942.
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