I listen to the sound of the pitter-patter of the falling rain,
Beating down softly unto the clear windowpane.
Outside in the falling rain, there are no children out to play;
All is calm and quiet as the chalk marks slowly wash away,
Fading from memory and sight with the pitter-patter of the falling rain,
Sitting back and reflecting, it is a sad trip down memory lane.
I can recall times of old, standing in the rain holding your hand,
We stood soaked to the bone, listening the grand old band.
The times when from the downpours we ran home to be dry,
My, we ran so quick, one would think we could almost fly.
But now, you are not here watching with me this rain,
I feel inside of me, this deep, empty, aching pain.
Ever so carefully I listen to the pleasant pitter-patter of the falling rain,
Deeply soothing, that soft pitter-patter will surely keep me sane.
Now it is into that falling rain that get up I go,
Standing, feeling the cool rain beating down and beginning to flow.
The memories in my head, unlike the chalk marks, will never fade,
I shall carry them with me always, until I myself, to rest be laid.
Feeling the fresh pitter-patter of the falling rain unto my bare skin,
I reflect on a world, mixed and divided by eternal sin.
One of these days there shall be peace and calm,
The days on which people will suffer no more harm.
Just listening to the rhythm of the falling rain,
Slowly I feel it lift the tension and ease the pain.
I await my time to be once more with you,
Imagining all of the fabulous things we could once more do;
Standing as one in the falling rain, me holding your hand once more,
Together we can walk soaked again through that warm and friendly door.
But now I am back alone, sitting listening to the pitter-patter of the falling rain,
Listening to it beat softly down unto the clear windowpane.
***
Jimmy Watkinson
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-falling-rain/
