Early one morning, just as the gays were yawning, I met R walking down a boulevard in some fairly heavy rain with a big smile on his face. R is a literary man who speaks Hamburg German and either Tennessee or Missouri English–we’re not out on this one–and whose career has not progressed as it might have in the past decades, possibly because his appearance and manners are generally held to be those of an acid-crazed tinker patriarch. Anyway, it turned out that R was happy because tepid rain relaxes him and helps him think, something which very few Spaniards seem to be able to relate to. It is not so in all warm places, however. Here‘s a fine piece by Fuad Norman in the Yemen Times:
It falls under the window pane
Happy Rain, Happy Rain.
If it sobs or cries
It never goes in pain
I heard the peasants singing on fields.
On farms, Planting seeds
It grows neither harvest nor grain
So, we Never gain
Just pain plus pain
Happy Rain, Happy Rain.
On faces
In blood
It lets Love beat in heart
It makes Knowledge broaden in brain
Happy dreams can’t sleep in dirty lane
Falling down on the ground
But it lost in vain
Happy Rain
Happy Rain
Come again, come again
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I was just curious why only the occasional guy has stuff in Spanish, and the FAQs don’t explain. I guess it’s
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