April 13, 2018 by phicks2012
I actually like rain. I find it peaceful and refreshing, and I even like thunderstorms with their clash and flash and fury — as long as I know we’re not gearing up for a tornado. Those I can do without.
In any case, it was raining the other morning, and the rain was spilling down off the eaves and streaming down over the windows, and I happened to be sitting at my computer feeling relaxed and creative. When that happens, I tend to find myself getting prolific, and the verse below therefore just happened.
I hope some will find merit or enjoyment in it.
Sliding down the stone-hewn faces of the mountains, and the walls,
Filling up the empty spaces, quietly the spring rain falls.
Down the hills each droplet chases, after others to the halls
Carved by nature, from high places down to where the ocean calls.
Slipping over leaves a-borning, one unto another spill
Down upon the misted morning, where the dewdrops glisten still,
Raindrops shimmer, stillness scorning, on the shoulder of the hill,
Gathering, and without warning rush to mingle where they will.
Softly, softly on the grasses, on the roofs, and on the stones,
On the windowpanes and glasses, droplets fall with silvered tones,
On the faces of the lasses and the withered cheeks of crones;
Softly fall like tears. Time passes for us all, til we be bones.
Still the rain through adits laces, finding paths to thundrous falls;
Down into the river races from the hallowed forest halls,
To the basin that embraces every kindred droplet, all
Come from kissing stone-hewn faces of the mountains and the walls.
[07 April, A.S. LII, 2018]