Drip Drop

Wrote this poem two years ago.

Drip. . . Drop

The rain was falling yesterday.

Each drip dropped delicately and slowly,

as if it was in shame.

Drip. . . Drop

The rain is pouring today.

The perfect day for a funeral you might say.

The rain drops aren't too heavy nor too light,

it's just right.

The wind blows softly making the trees stir and the rain drop sideways.

The clouds clash,

making the roar of a lion.

Thunder has now come to accompany rain.

Today was a perfect day for rain.

Drip. . . Drop

The rain will possibly pour tomorrow. 

If it does,

the rain will come down with no mercy.

It will be like the weeping of a person who's lover has lost to death.

The tears will come down painfully and without care.

The wind will then come harshly, 

it will make the trees shake, and push the rain even more to the side.

Then the clouds will clash like two bulls,

challenging one another,

making the whole sky grumble like the belly of the beast.

Lightening then comes and add to this.

It flashes it's strikes in harmony with thunder,

putting fear in hearts.

Now the rain has become a battle between all four forces.

The rain falls faster onto the pavement.

The wind blows much harsher.

The thunder is much louder.

The lightening flashes with more power.

It is now a storm.

Mother nature sees this and scolds them for their carelessness.

They stop fighting, stopping the storm whirling around them.

The flowers bloom a bit, 

just enough so they can spread their pollen.

Spring has begun.