Leah in the Rain

Once, Uncle Bob, visiting from Eugene, Oregon and banished to smoking his pipe in the rain on the back deck, challenged his niece Kate to a poetry competition. The subject? "Leah in the Rain"--Leah, being the stone statue in the back yard, who never abandons her spot regardless of the weather.

	by Uncle Bob, age 42 Christmas 1995 Leah doesn't talk much, or move or nothin' -- just stands there, smug, like there's something she knows the rest of us don't. And maybe she does, 'cause nothin' seems to bother her, not even the rain. She stands there in it, sticking out that thick left thigh, like thunder thighs don't bother her one bit. And that tit -- she gets away with having it out, I guess because she's different from all the rest of us and everybody knows it. And she doesn't care. Maybe that's it -- what she knows -- that she's different and so what. But I still wonder why she won't come in out of the rain. Personally, I think she might not have the sense God gave gravel.	by Kate, age 13 Christmas 1995 Alone she stands Leah in the rain Scarcely a glance in her direction. And though she may be tired And cold, she must keep standing Proud and tall, holding her basket of flowers Etched in stone. Her detailed face Looks sad and almost wistful As though once she were a real girl And now only a statue, proud and tall, Standing, lonely in the rain. The drops fall softly, slowly, sadly, Almost taunting her, laughing at her sadness. For they are free to fly and play While she must stay standing Proud and tall, holding her basket of flowers, Leah in the rain.