Whispers of Rain

The sky turns delicate, a delicate gray,
Clouds assemble moderate to lead the way.
No caution yell, no trumpet sound—
Fair little drops that kiss the ground.

A whisper to begin with upon the takes off,
A tap against the rooftops' roof.
At that point comes the melody, so calm, so clear,
The rain has come. The world can listen.

It washes clean from tired streets,
And helps all the overwhelming loads.
It paints the soil in more profound green,
A calm touch, so unadulterated, so clean.

The blooms lift their languid heads,
The parched soil readily spreads.
The streams chuckle, the canals murmur,
As nature sings, “The rain has come.”

Children surge to move and play,
Unshod dreams in skies of gray.
Giggling echoes down the road,
As puddles frame underneath their feet.

Behind the glass, a container of tea,
A book, a thought, fair you and me.
We sit and observe the world moderate down,
As raindrops weave a silver crown.

The discuss smells modern, like fresh-born peace,
A moment's calm, a sweet discharge.
From stresses boisterous and traffic's race,
The rain brings stillness to this put.

It tells us we will begin once more,
That life still develops in storms and rain.
That tears do not cruel the conclusion of light—
They offer assistance the roots hold firm and tight.

So let it drop, this delicate grasp,
Let rain come discover each covered up space.
Let windows mist, let streams run,
Let clouds roll in and stow away the sun.

For indeed storms can mend and patch,
And stormy days, like all things, conclusion.
The sun will rise, the sky will clear,
But whereas it rains—just rest right here.

Tune in near and feel it close,
The voice of rain so kind, so expensive.
It comes not fair to damp the arrive,
But to remind us—life is arranged.