While on the beach, the tourist played, or in the surf, they swim and wade.
Leaving all their troubles home, they release their stress at our shore.
Without warning, almost sneaky, in comes the storm, dark and streaky.
In the rain, tourists crawl behind their car door, hiding behind the door-
"It's only a Florida storm," I mutter as the heaven pour-
"Only a rainstorm and nothing more."
In my yard, the rain does stream, creating the Florida dream.
I watch my kids grab the shampoo, showering under the storm's roar.
Acting abash, tourists drive by, while in the puddle, my kids splash.
In their joy, my children playing, imagining in the rain-
"Tis only children," I mutter as the tourist complain -
"Only a rainstorm and nothing more."
At the parks, the rain does soak, drenching the common folk.
The people buy ponchos while hiding behind a door.
As I watch, residents keep playing while the rains continue spraying.
In my joy, I love the storm, as the word repeats in my head-
"It's only a Florida storm," I mutter at the tourist's dread-
"Only a rainstorm and nothing more."
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Only a Rainstorm and Nothing More
by Stephanie Daich
