Rain Front Poem by Tailor Bell

Off the routine wooden porch here
Rooted along the front of this place
Breadcrumbs and troubles stream away
Rain marches down, steady taps, tapping over
Pebbly gravel beds, the once-flat pavement
Every clear dropp a miniature explosion
In this gray-green lollapalooza for one
Would I have it any other way, not today
Would I change the colors, you bet
Who wouldn't enjoy a soft yellow storm
When it is raining you can just say no
When it gushes, you can just look on
Because it is raining, and for no other
Reason, you can stay on the porch, dry
Watching it fall all around, lingering sound
Absorbing the allegiant, heavy drumming
Pitter-pattering on boots, like short rounds
I'm always here, here at the front
The rain is always coming down
Never red, the rain here is never hard