Rain, rain

I write in my hollow and look outside and see as follows.
Apple trees drenched in rain,
yet not in pain.
Clothes line soaked in water,
a tree of pine embedded by fresh glossy water and
pavers, NO NOT SHAVERS!!!!!! PAVERS!!!, drowned by the stuff.
The precious liquid gold,
which I should have told,
is the best stuff in the world.

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