And for eight days, we have had sun
Even today, on one of the rain days
The day began with sunshine and blue sky
One could become dispirited
By the overflowing gutters
By the mist enveloping the bay
One could, but simply by the law of averages
One can be certain that the sun will return
That the spirits will be lifted
By the clearer skies, by the lapping
Of the azure sea, onto the silver sunlit sands
Is this what Beckett was aiming at
With Godot; that to wait is the life
To wait, and to observe, no more to it than that
No need for despondency, nor for hope
Of course if the rain has set itself in
Which by now it seems to have done
Then, I agree, one may well struggle
To visualise any emerging light
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