The rains have arrived, pouring steadily.
 I watch from windows - high above the street,
  and see some stand in doorframes, tentatively,
  watching the droplets splat on the concrete,
  drops slip off curbs and into the gutters.
 You'd think the water would scour the world clean:
  that it'd sweep away the dirt and the clutter,
  and wash the leaves to a clean shade of green. 
 
But, instead, it deposits grit and trash
 in piles and sandbars that're spaced randomly,
  and befouls all the walls with muddy splash -
  that paints with red clay, less than handsomely.

But, while it may make the man-made world meaner,
 the rain does make the trees' world much greener.