Reminiscing With Rain
A poem.
Hearing the sweet sound,
the pitter-patter of the rain.
A sudden jolt of nostalgia,
always hits me like a train.
The unique scent of the soil,
engulfs me like a warm hug.
I smile slowly, reminiscing the time,
when mama called me, naughty bug.
A vivid picture of that first summer rain,
made its place in me, denned.
When I sang to the sky, rain, o rain,
exhilarated, making my first friend.
A foyer with my pink bike,
yellow umbrella and bottle of bubbles.
The scene sojourns, always,
chaperoned by rain like a couple.
The squeals of joy, jumps and scars,
hiding shenanigans, knowingly.
I yearn for every petal of then bud,
releasing a wistful sigh, unknowingly.
When the rain halts, whispering adieu,
the fond memoir says bye too.
But not before the rain, fondly saying –
dear flower, childhood is the best, so true.
