Night Rain
On my windowpane.
Streaming signatures on my window,
Drumming out a tune-up on my roof,
Rushing down the gutters in splashes and splutters,
Night rain is now living proof.
Singing like a symphony of slumber,
I’m nicely tucked up in bed,
The pitter and the patter, it doesn’t really matter,
Music plays in my dreams instead.
The aroma of the flowers in the summer showers,
Wafts through my windows and doors,
Freshness in the air wipes away care,
And synthesizes the snuffles and the snores.
Sometimes I lay awake, but it won’t take long to take,
Me away to other realms in my dreams,
It’s a sustained feeling of security,
Keeps me safe, or that is how it seems.
It can happen in the day or on a holiday,
But at night it whispers softly in my ears,
Falling from the sky I don’t really have to try,
To imagine the night rain falls like tears.
It drifts in the wind in patterns,
And falls softly in delight,
Then it whips past the trees and lets out a sneeze,
The rain beats the rhythm of the night.
I lie and listen as lights outside glisten,
And hear the beat that sends me to sleep,
The garden drinks the night rain,
Growing what I sowed and soon will reap.
Somewhere far away, or out there on the Bay,
Wind squalls whistle in the air,
Driving the night rain on my windowpane,
They wash away the dreamer's every care.
©
David Rudder
2022
Thanks for reading.
