The Rain Knows

Where I live, the people know my name. Where I walk, the moon knows my heart. Where I run, where I watch, where I think; where I really live, where I truly am; there, the rain, its sight, its silence, and its music know my soul. Its melody drums on, patters through my musing mind. Its melody thunders o'er the tundras where I reside. Its melody cascades down the windshield of my emotions, its melody showers me, ever on through this life; all I need, at times, a stroll through a storm. Do any eyes see, into the heart of this man? Do any hearts beat, to the same rhythm as mine? Do any feet dance, the same pensive adagio as I? Do any spirits really know me, I always wonder; yet when the deluge is upon me, the pondering stops. I know it knows me. I know how I feel when underneath its misty sheets. I know what it means when it comes to visit; I know the sweet taste of its droplets, the caress of it and its sister, the wind, on my cheek. When I'm full of thoughts, and need release; it knows. When I address it as a stranger, miss its company; it knows. When I need; it knows. When I feel its harmonies resonating within, and call upon its half of this transcendent duo; it knows. I can be anywhere, and feel a twang on the strings of my heart; and it will know. I can be doing anything, and if my soul sends a cry, one that I rarely know anything of; it will know. Somehow, it's there for me. I am keenly grateful for its vigilance, aware of how much it's done for me; and I can do nothing for it. What does the rain need, desire, miss? Only the rain knows. Whatever its reasons for remaining with me, whatever its reasons for so constantly soothing my soul; I will forever be in its debt, forever beholden to all it's done - I hope the rain knows.