The Rain Falls On The Hill Above Poem by Dennis Lange

The rain falls on the hill above,
And some runs through my yard,
Across my driveway, and then down
The sloped road, rushing hard.

In silver streams and waterfalls
And rapid, churning foam,
It charges to the creek below,
Like students hurry home.

The creek, flushed with the rushing flow,
Swims faster to its friend
And joins the river's swollen surge -
And they, together, wend.

The river rages, current swift,
Filled with ferocity,
And down the sloping country runs
And follows land to sea.

The sun beams on the ocean's face
To see the water there,
And sea sighs with a moistened breath
That rises in the air.

And in between the sun and the sea
Their offspring rise and grow -
At first a little tad, then more -
Oh, children blossom so!

The wind, a nursemaid, sends them out
Across the land to play.
Then, some come to my hill and house,
Make night from brightest day.

They flash a smile, then loudly shout;
Their booming rattles panes,
And rumbles in the sky above
Like bowling pins in lanes.

Then, rain falls on the hill above,
And some runs through my yard,
Across my driveway, and then down
The sloped road, rushing hard.