It’s raining in Paris.
Il pleut.
And the plump drops
mingle and fall
amidst the winding streets,
splattering the colorful umbrellas
which blossom on the sidewalks
from the hands of tourists,
who peer out from beneath their domes,
as rain, la pluie,
splashes on metal rooftops
in big fat polka dots and
courses down marble facades,
washing over gargoyles and spires
and sprinkling into fountains.
Il pleut.
Nix the comfort zone 
Beautiful writing!
Everything about the rain sounds better when it’s in French. Even parapluie sounds much better than umbrella, doesn’t it? (Though I don’t like rainy days when I’m sightseeing. But that’s another story.)
LikeLike
Thanks, Stacey. I agree that everything sounds better in French! I’d forgotten that wonderful word, parapluie! I love the feeling of saying words with lots of “p”s when I’m talking.
LikeLike
You may say your poem is half baked, but I found pleasant images and the next time it rains, I am definitely referring to the drops a polka dots!
Polka dots turns a gray day into a whimsical day!
Have a great day with your kiddos tomorrow!
Deb
LikeLike
Thanks, Deb.
LikeLike
At least it was in Paris, yes? I want to travel there someday. Love your word choices!
LikeLike
As Stacey noted, everything is better in French..or in Paris! 🙂
LikeLike
My high school French to the rescue. Our French IV teacher had us memorize a poem that began “Il pleut dans mon coeur comme it pleut sur la ville. Quelle cette languer qui penetre mon couer. That’s all I got.
LikeLike
Impressive memory, Dan! I’m still struggling to translate that one–High school French was a long time ago!
LikeLike