The Rain

The rain comes soft, like a mother’s touch, As it caresses the earth where it lies; Tears down the passage and down from above, To embrace all the hearts and sighs.

In the fields, it dances a gentle stride, While the puddles form with a grace; Oh the rhythm echoes with breathing pride, In the pattern drawn by the face.

For each drop sparkles, lifts all the weight, Where the leaves begin to glow; And a song will rise from the depths of fate, With the beauty that is ours to grow.

• David Campbell