A Rainstorm Poem by Dennis Lange

A Rainstorm



I smell the sweet smell that the rain is a'coming,
And soon it will sound like God's fingers are drumming,
And tapping a message to answer my pleading:
I'm here and I hear and your prayer I am heeding.

The gray clouds grow darker, then black while advancing;
The cedars below are excited and dancing.
They sway in the rush of the wind from the storming
As though for a lover a courtship performing.

The shower draws nearer and blots out the valley.
Then, lightning, and rumble, like pins in an alley.
I hear on the leaves of the trees a soft patter,
And pitter of raindrops that climbs to a clatter.

And even while standing 'neath deck's roof for shelter,
So many sensations leave senses a welter:
The gusting, the pouring, the lightning, the thunder -
I'm damp and I'm cold as the wind shares the wonder.

I watch as the grayness grows darker around me;
I marvel that drought or dread doubt had once bound me.
While off of my roof rolls the rain like a river,
I stand and give thanks to my God the life-giver.

Sunday, February 1, 2015
Topic(s) of this poem: rain
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