Rain-Out

There's no joy among the warrors,
Both the heavys and the lights;
No time for trying out new moves,
No chance for pick-up fights,
No point in getting dressed for war
In our best fighting togs.
The weather gods have scorned us.
It's raining cats and dogs.

For those whom fighter practice
Is the highlight of the week,
Who, like me, would otherwise have
No social life to speak,
The company of our fellows
Is well and truly missed,
Leaving me a little grumpy,
And more than a little pissed.

My gear is still all packed to go,
And stay a while it must;
Cause bringing swords in through the wet
Only encourages rust.
But worse still is the rust that forms
On my sword arm and my brain
From sitting at home on a Tuesday night
Listening to the rain.

Well, the weather gods have spoken
And made their viewpoint plain.
They've drowned our weekly pleasures
In an overflow of rain.
While tonight's a disappointment,
I'll venture to predict
Though practice was a wash-out,
Next week's gonna kick!