To start things off, here's a poem I wrote for our school poetry slam titled Yellow Boots.

They run
Checking watches
Like the white rabbit

Always in a hurry
H

eads down
Umbrellas up
Scuffed black shoes
Slowly fill with water

They step over puddles
U

naware of the trampled dandelion
Growing in the crack of the pavement

They ignore the world
T

he deep billowing sky
The fat raindrops
Which roll off their raincoats
Never to take the great plunge
From the clouds again

All but one
A

mong the black and grey
There is yellow

Yellow rain boots
S

tomping through puddles
Stopping occasionally

A little girl turn her face to the sky
C

atching raindrops in her open mouth
As if it was lemonade

They do not see her
B

ut the sky thanks her
For appreciating his great show

Through a window
I

n a cafe
A tired waitress
Watches the display of joy outside
And remembers her days of yellow boots
And puddle stomping

Her mouth lifts in a small smile
A

s she watches the girl
Until reality catches up with her

The woman clocks out for the day
P

uts up her umbrella
Slips on her slightly damp
And not so slightly scuffed shoes
And heads into the storm

But maybe
J

ust maybe
She will pause for a moment
To turn her face to the sky
And remember the taste of rain