Sense of Spring
March 12, 2012
There is no word for the sound that rain makes
It's the falling, the ripple, the formation of lakes
It can pitter or patter, and go splish and sposh
But for the sound that it makes, there's no word to describe
It's a feeling, a taste, it's a vision that falls
It's something inside you, a sound that just calls
Calls to stay in the dry, or come play in the rain
A game dodging raindrops, the cold down your face
It's the smell of wet earth, and the sound of the birds
It's the squelsh of damp mud, but for it there's no words
It's each drip off a leaf to the puddle below
It's the taste on your tongue, it's the sound of the rain
Seen in red rubber wellies, or long, dry rain coats
In the mist, on the wind, sending grime all afloat
It's the cleansing, renewing, the sense of the new
Beginning, new growing, and new things to do
There is no word for the sound that rain makes
Just the feeling, the knowing, the smell and the taste
I was going to write a poem a week, but I tried it and discovered it's not really something you can force, so when it comes, it'll come...
