A perfect weather day. Crisp and clean as a whitewashed wall. An apple picking, finger licking day.
Leaves swirl through the air like tiny puppets twirling on strings. Red and yellow and orange flash by, dancing on the hands of a master puppeteer.
In the distance, a slate grey cloud. Hovering on the edge, waiting for its entrance. Slowly it moves in from the wings. Dancing the stately waltz of rain. It soars on stage, the puppeteer pouring droplets from above.
Scenes change, lights flit on and off. Then the stage is quiet and dark.
The show is over.
When I first look at the title and read the first line, I was a little confused. But then I realized why you named it "the show". I espeacially like the line "dancing the steady waltz of rain". It has a good rhythm and describes the rhythmic pitter patter of raindrops. Good poem! Just check the format, it kinda looked like you couln't fit the whole poem line on one space line.
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