Ode to dry spells and rains rolling in

Once upon a time there was a long and exhausting dry spell
amongst the labyrinth streets of mighty fine Alby Hills
And the readers gathered huddling saying: "Pray, do tell"
Knowingly nodding whilst popping another vile penicillin pill

Mama Asphalt took a breath and let the story begin unfolding,
almost seems a vicarious experience, looking in hindsight,
The tale of the night when the rains slowly rolled in
over the winding streets and curves of the hills of might

Now, now, don't get carried away or imagine that which is not,
meaning neither fabulous, fantastic or unforgetably striking
Rather something that was dearly needed, wanted in this plot
As the rains swept in and the gentlman went about to her liking

Two casual hours the rains cared to remain, before they moved on
as suddenly as a carcrash, almost as if only by happenstance
But the streets carry no more dust or dirt, and the cool song
is like a breeze through the jungle that still stands a chance

So hear now, dryspellers out there, there and over yonder,
the rains are coming your way, slowly, slowly and surely
Just keep your eyes open, your mind free and don't you ponder
whether it's this minute or if it'll make your hair curly

It'll be all of those things and all at a moment's once,
leading stress away, keeping irritation out and at bay
And so Mama Asphalt ends the story, time flies and runs
whether we like it or not, and there the gentleman shall lay

Until next time the rains come for a visit in the hills
curiously sending out a succession of warm and tingly chills