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.