Hallelujah!

I started writing again today! Woot! I'm not sure if I'm going to write that memoir about Megan; maybe, but I'd have to do it all from scratch, and that's hard when you've already started the project in a different form (like, say, a badly written version of the memoir from when you were 16...). Today I wrote a poem. Actually, I expanded on an idea I had for a poem in January, but that I couldn't find a direction for in my Poetry Writing class. Hopefully this means I have successfully psyched myself into writing something every day; the more seriously I consider grad school, the more things I have to do yesterday to make myself a competitive applicant (the acceptance rate for the school I really want to go to is about 50 seats to 150 applicants--yikes). Sometime this week I need to go to Testing Services and figure out how to register for the September GRE, then go to Hastings and buy the book my brother told me to study from. I need to write something every day, so that a) my writing improves, b) I'll have a bigger portfolio, and c) I might get scholarships, published, and/or go to conference(s). I need to read every day to expand my knowledge base (to be a good writer you have to read, you know), and I really need to start reading Atlas Shrugged so I can write a killer essay and get a scholarship in September. Never mind all the good stuff I'd like to do anyway, like practice French, learn the piano, and crochet my afghan. It really doesn't help that my otherwise totally awesome roommate Christina got me hooked on a Japanese anime, "Bleach." There's not enough time for everything! AAH!

Anyway, now you all know my stress. Below is the poem I wrote today, because I know you've all been dying to read it from the first line of this post:

It’s raining, it’s pouring, the old man is snoring—
Wait—
Why is there an old man?
Why not a young man? Or a woman? Or a child?
That line is so restrictive.

Breathe. I’m over it.

It’s raining, it’s pouring, the old man is snoring—
Wait—
Why does he snore when it rains?
Why doesn’t he sit by the fire, holding his white-haired wife’s hand?
Or finish his homework to Nature’s background music?
The least she can do is watch through the kitchen window as greens grow brighter, reds burn longer, and all colors blend into an ephemeral arbor over her roses.
Surely the little one learns the pleasure of puddle-jumping and the cold eerie surprise of water in one’s boots.

Or maybe it’s raining and pouring because the old man is snoring. Hmm.

What thunderous snores he must make, to be heard above the rain’s roof-tapping.

What manner of Man he must be, to call forth the tears of heaven.

What so many sorrows He must have endured, to know how to wash away the faded green of dying flowers, the bright crimson stain on pure white clothes, and give them new life.

It's hard to see some of the formatting this way but that's okay. I love comments on everything, but if you could, I'd like my readers to respond to a couple questions.
Q 1: Does the switch from comical to serious work? Why or why not? How can I make it better? Did you see this poem going in a different direction? Why?
Q 2: Is there enough imagery and sensory detail in this poem? Why or why not? Any ideas?
Q 3: Any help with poetic techniques in general would be great, specifically internal music.
Q 4: There are a couple of lines that I'm not so sure about right now. If a line doesn't seem to fit, or confuses you, PLEASE tell me. Any ideas for these are especially helpful.

Any other comments are always welcome! Keep your fingers crossed for me that I'll be able to write something again tomorrow!