Rain

RAIN There is something ornately comforting in a downpour of a day’s healthy rain So replenishing, so cleansing, so renewing, as so the giver to feed life’s grain As standing undercover feeling the smaller flecks of the rain against your skin With the trashing of it against the window panes, creating such a massive din Each drop, creating rivulets that chase each other down, onto the window sill There pausing, but, for a second in pools before they take their final overspill God’s creatures sensing mother’s nature ungodly call find refuge in their lairs Others finding cover from the torrent of rain, that caught them, so unawares Birds tuck their heads away waiting until the downpour of rain has its final fall In this time, just birds of silence, you seldom hear them making their bird call Within the marble halls of mansions, walls glisten, with dancing shades of hue Gun dogs; put out of work, lie waiting, for them, there is nothing they can do Children sit upon window seats, watching all the rivulets fall, upon each a wish Their little fingers pressed upon the window pane, giving each rivulet a squish But; nothing can prevent nature’s raindrops falling, so they just watch in awe Cats, on hind legs, have fun trying to catch the drops rivulets with their paws There is more than a sense of security, in this day’s healthy downpour of rain Mother makes hot cups of juice, just in case, from a cold, we all need to feign Grandfather sits very staunchly before the fire, in his armchair made so grand A tot of whiskey just for good measure, as medical purposes you understand While dear Grandma; is knitting away, totally in tune, to the rhyme of the rain In the hallway, standing there idle, rests fathers ebony and ivory walking cane Who's now took himself in his reading study, to reminisce and to have a cigar Saved, just for such a day, resting in its lacquered pigmented box of cinnabar The cooks are busy in the kitchen; they are making the family’s, evening meal Steam rising from the cooking onto the windows panes, does the rain conceal Until that steam itself creates rivulets of their own and the outside is revealed In doing so; makes the clarity of the day’s rain downpour, even more, surreal Indiana Shaw . . .