The Beauty of Rainfall
A familiar sound disturbs my peaceful room,
I have to leave my reading as the sound persists.
It is not a dripping tap, or overflowing from a bath,
Yet similar, the sound gets stronger, louder, fast.!
I look up to my window and see familiar droplets,
Outside in the street , water gushing from a pipe,
And rain is pouring down.
Not fierce with Winter wind. Nor thunderous Summer storm,
Just gentle falling rain.
I stare out of my window, people hurry from the street,
They're dressed in Summer clothes, and yet it's rain they meet.
My eyes fall back to the window pain, the droplets running down,
Reminds me of the child l was, always followed a single droplet.
My eyes would stay with just one, until it reached the bottom.
Then up the top l'd look again at my familiar window pane,
To see another droplet, or maybe there'd be two..!!
Racing down the window........Which one will be first to reach the windows' end?
What a funny memory, of how the little girl in me
Would watch the rain,
The window pane,
The street outside,
But...... Most of all..... The sound.
There is no sound resembling gentle rain.
It plays music of its own,
Reminding me of other days gone by, My daughter..
How she'd leap for joy, when we lived in a desert land,
And rain was such a rarity, her excitement fit to burst.
I can see her now dancing on our terrace.
Arms up in the air, her feet were always bare,
"Be careful".....she may slip or slide,
A mother always worries.
But she never did fall down.
She smiled and sang as she danced around.
We all knew that the episode would swiftly come to end,
The sun would dry the sodden ground, so quickly that you'd never know
That rain had come at all.
Our visitor, the rain, for an hour or two, sometimes for a day,
Then burning sun eradicated any signs that it had come.
My daughter ..... all grown up now.... but the memory
Is oh so clear, of days when rarity of rain
Would see her dancing barefoot on our balcony.
It brings a smile to me.
a warm and happy memory,
of gentle falling rain.
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