My Name Is Rain
My name is rain
But I have many faces.
I am the howling gale
That rattles your shutters
And sends the porch chairs
Skittering across the floor.
I whistle and scream
And drive cascades of water
Against your windows
And down the rain gutters,
Forcing tiny rivulets
Between the shingles
To drip tinnily into buckets
On the floor.
I am shy and quiet,
Misty and mysterious.
I cushion and muffle
The busy noise of life.
My voice is a whisper
Scarcely heard.
My tiny droplets
Fall like downy feathers,
Tickling the upturned faces
Of flowers and children
And lovers
Walking hand in hand.
I am the steady, drenching rain
That soaks the parched ground
And awakes the sleeping
Iris and daffodil,
Crocus and tulip.
I tend the farmer’s crops
And green the fields
And pastures.
I softly beat my drum
In rhythm on your roof
And lull you to sleep
And pleasant dreams.
I am the summer storm
Sweeping in suddenly
Without warning
From the West.
I bring the fireworks
Of crackling thunder
And lightning blazes
That limn the trees
In stark relief,
That send cats and children
Scurrying under beds
With eyes clenched shut.
I am as old as the earth
And as young as spring
I can be harsh and loud
Or so gentle that
Children cavort and splash
In my muddy puddles.
Farmers rejoice.
I send picnickers,
Laughing and wet,
To have their picnic
Under a river’s bridge.
I am both feared and loved.
My name is rain,
And I have many faces.
Copyright © Barbara Peckham | Year Posted 2021
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem.
Please
Login
to post a comment