Rain on the 4th

It's raining on the 4th of July.
Heavy clouds cover the leaden sky.
The ponds fill, the trees weep,
And water from my eaves does seep.

I cannot remember an instance or a time
When on the anniversary of that day sublime
-When the brave Founders threw off the yoke of a tyrant-
That the heavens saw fit to release such a torrent.

But I am still young, and can only remember a few
Fourths of July, out of two hundred thirty-three that have made their adieux.
Perhaps wind and rain have dampened the festivities
At many anniversaries of this, our nation's nativity.

The mood of the sky should not dull our celebration
Or, God forbid, turn it into sober lamentation.
Because even if the fireworks are sodden and the barbecue won't start
Those things are not what this Day is about, at its heart.

"Independence!" was the cry that on this day rang
When America had tasted enough of oppression's tang.
You will agree, I'm sure, that it wouldn't have made much sense
Had they cried instead, "Fireworks! Buy one and get one for 99 cents!"

The rain now ceases, the drops have stopped.
And in the east, blue sky the leaden cloud has cropped.
In fact, a ray of sun now sets ablaze
The crystalline drops that on the grass were glazed.

The fireworks now will soon commence.
Adding to the smoke of Dad's grill their heady incense.
But let us not forget, amidst the festive conflagration,
The fire that drove, impelled, and fueled this nation.