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
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