Whispers of Rain

The rain speaks in quiet, steady words,

a gentle rhythm against the earth,

tapping out secrets on rooftops and leaves,

each drop a story, each splash a dream.

It rolls down glass in trembling lines,

tracing paths we’ll never see again,

drawing maps of places left behind,

in rivers of silver, soft and thin.

I stand beneath its cool embrace,

face tilted to the weeping sky,

letting the chill sink into my skin,

as the world around me sighs.

For in the rain there’s a cleansing grace,

a way to start, to let things go,

and as the clouds begin to break,

I feel lighter with each falling drop.

© 2024 A.M. Roberts. All rights reserved.