Plan B

Yellow (the) flowers (that) dot the land,

and wet the ground on which I stand;

with gun at side I had not planned

for quiet sky and none in hand.

In sheets it fell across the field,

the wind against the tin it reeled; 

beneath the barn and under heeled,

salvation in our case concealed...

the rye and corn and yeast of strain.

And in my warmth I did complain;

then she, without a hint disdain

said "Love, the dove don't fly in rain."