Teapot

I love the ionizing smell of rain
The confirmation that my sense was right
The clouds weren't scattering sufficient light
And it was coming. Umbrellas are vain
Against Chicago tempests, and they strain
Under a puff of wind - at such a sight
As this, a stormcloud putting drops in flight,
Each gust strikes them as if against the grain
And hurls them outward. Revel in the wet,
Do not pretend to shield it from your skin
For rest assured it will, it will get in
And soak your insolence. So therefore set
Your fond attempts aside, and say with me
I love the rain in superfluity.