Rain.
What mysterious hand commands
Your rapturous refrain?
Who orchestrates this cadence, it's staccato fusillade?
You drench the dusty earth,
And pierce the river's skin,
With life itself.
Repelled by waxen cloth,
But wet my face, and welcome too,
In summer's arid heat.
You bead the rod with pearl,
And steam from country lane,
Beloved rain.