Raindrops

The first rains of spring

RAINDROPS

Awoken by its sweet perfume,
The smell of which fills my room.
The rains are here once again—
The pitter-patter of my old friend.

Its gentle notes revealed in song,
The storm bird calls and sings along.
Spring is here; the crops rejoice,
The flowers sigh in one soft voice.

Beauty revealed in its many forms:
The summer rains and winter storms.
Puddles cast as children play,
Mud is thrown, then washed away.

Children’s laughter fills the air,
My mother’s voice: “You wouldn’t dare!”
Muddied boots and soggy clothes,
Footprints lead to the old wood stove.

Gathered around its warm embrace,
Its gentle flame warms my face.
Supper served, we have our fill,
Put to bed against my will.

Hours pass, the stars descend—
Until tomorrow, my old friend.