IV.

DROPS

Your name,

Like rain, 

trickles from my brain,

Dripping, 

the is faucet leaking,

far away, 

I hear it,

drop down a rusted drain.

I am falling,

abandoning hope,

I cannot resign,

from its sound.

Naked 

Whispering your name.

End my suffering,

I stand alone questioning;

All that I was,

and all that I am.

Lavender wafts,

through corridors,

from potpourri jars,

offering sleep

and relaxation.

The weary finds no relief;

through scent and sounds,

The slow, obnoxious,

drip,

through me,

hounds. 

I cannot pull the stop

incessant, 

relentless,

The rain echos drops

Endless drops.

 © "Raindrops" ~Denise Goodwin

III.

"The Clouds consign their treasures to the fields; And, softly shaking on the dimpled pool Prelusive drops, let all their moisture flow In large effusion, o'er the freshen'd world."   ~James Thomson

"It is not raining to me, It's raining daffodils; In every dimpled drop I see Wild flowers on distant hills."          ~ Robert Loveman

"I bring fresh showers for the thirsting flowers, 

From the seas and the streams; 

I bear light shade for the leaves when laid 

In their noonday dreams. 

From my wings are shaken the dews that waken 

The sweet buds every one, 

When rocked to rest on their mother's breast, 

As she dances about the sun. 

I wield the flail of the lashing hail, 

And whiten the green plains under, 

And then again I dissolve it in rain, 

And laugh as I pass in thunder." 

~Percy Bysshe Shelley 

"She waits for me, my lady Earth, 

Smiles and waits and sighs; 

I'll say her nay, and hide away, 

Then take her by surprise." 

~Mary Mapes Dodge

II.

WHY DOES IT RAIN?

Why does it rain? 

"There are always tiny drops of water vapor in the air. Warm air has more water vapor than cold air, which is why it is often humid in the summer.

Warm air rises, and with it rise the water droplets. These tiny drops rise if cold air blows in. Mountains can also make them rise, which is why it rains a lot there. When the air holds lots of water droplets, clouds form. If a lot of water droplets gather in the clouds, the clouds become heavy. Gravity causes the water droplets to fall as rain."

Source: easyscienceforkids.com

Rain, Rain Go Away

Rain, rain, go away,

Come again another day,

Little Denise wants to play.

Rain, rain, go away.

Photo: woodlandwillow.com

I.

Autumn Rain 

Do not stand at my grave and weep. 

I am not there, I do not sleep.

I am a thousand winds that blow,

I am the diamond glints on snow.

I am the sunlight on ripened grain

I am the gentle autumn rain.

When you awaken in the morning's hush,

I am that swift uplifting rush

Of quiet birds in circled flight.

I am the soft star that shines at night.

Do not stand at my grave and cry,

I am not there, I did not die.

~ Mary Frye, 1932

“The rain to the wind said,

You push and I'll pelt.'

They so smote the garden bed

That the flowers actually knelt,

And lay lodged--though not dead.

I know how the flowers felt.” 

~ Robert Frost

What Could Have Been

The rain has subsided, and while he sleeps, 

I am transfixed on a geranium weeping.  

I am reminded of another's eyes of indigo,

and buoys floating on a horizon sublime, 

from a pleasant, yet lonely time, long ago.

I was disheartened by our choices,

The madness, 

consumption,

void of redemption.

You were Zen and distinguished, 

We denied the tides that turned;

and we could not extinguish, 

a fire that never burned.

And yet, the tides shift

and my memory drifts 

to what could have been.

© Denise Goodwin ~ 4/26/2015

Be still, sad heart! and cease repining; 

Behind the clouds is the sun still shining;

Thy fate is the common fate of all, 

Into each life some rain must fall. 

~Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Rain

Rain, midnight rain, nothing but the wild rain

On this bleak hut, and solitude, and me

Remembering again that I shall die

And neither hear the rain nor give it thanks

For washing me cleaner than I have been

Since I was born into solitude.

Blessed are the dead that the rain rains upon:

But here I pray that none whom once I loved

Is dying tonight or lying still awake

Solitary, listening to the rain,

Either in pain or thus in sympathy

Helpless among the living and the dead,

Like a cold water among broken reeds,

Myriads of broken reeds all still and stiff,

Like me who have no love which this wild rain

Has not dissolved except the love of death,

If love it be towards what is perfect and

Cannot, the tempest tells me, disappoint.

~Edward Thomas