In a bar, in the rain,
In the north-west of Spain,
I was trying to drown all my sorrows;
As the rain hammered down
On that dreary old town,
I reflected upon my tomorrows.
The going is bad,
There's more rain to be had,
And some hail, and a downfall of snow,
And some thunder and lightning,
And what's even more frightening
Is the gale that's beginning to blow.
Today was not good
For a stream was in flood,
I was bloody well near swept away;
And also (he rants)
My new rain-proof pants
Let in water for most of the day.
My pack's inundated,
My boots saturated,
(So much for that wonder stuff, Goretex);
And what's more the rain's
Trickled into my brain
Liquefying my cerebral cortex.
So I felt some relief
(As I struggled beneath
That Galician torrent of rain)
That it isn't a sin
Or a crime to give in:
In the morning I'm taking a train.
I've walked 800 K,
(That's four-fifths of the way),
But I know my Camino is done;
So it's no Compostela,
I'm off to Marbella
For some sweet R & R in the sun.
Only joking about the Marbella bit...
'Rain' appears 6 times in this poem by kind permission of the Galician Xunta, which has near-exclusive rights in the word.
(Posted from A Gudiña, on the Camino Sanabrés, Spain.)