A scatter to the thin puddles,
Fine threads which turn to running rounds,
All speckled paths by nascent streams,
So born now that the world is glass.

I forgot how much rain feels like my tears,
A little pools in melancholy on,
My lip and dreads to line my beard though stays.
It is a hazy tear on dreamy eves,
Caught in a flash of headlights Perlan tear,
All movement and so coming mist in brief,
Like iron wool and shards of glass at once.

I come home to you, my sweet spires,
Dusted with the autumn rains,
Yours are rosy cheeks in painted figures,
Life in so many walks through mottled streets.

My face in foamers' disarray,
Breaks on the sand so sparsely speckled,
Dancing polygons ever in collapse,
Like mirrors of a muddy thought,
Like all the breaking waves of unchecked hearts,
Why must it be so straight when I am else,
Why others shall I feel so cloudless clear,
Except on rainy days when I am poorly wet.

Beneath the misty front,
All swirls to seize the dying day,
The sound of waves comes dry upon the ears,
It tumbles over self,
And clumsy through the lovely rain,
And layers to its fall like threading rice,
The pitter to the patter making friends,
These little sounds all peak above their ranks,
To find a symphony and glorious song.

To be devoured in the sound of rain,
All cracks and squeaks fall deafly by,
A peace in ruling ruined noise,
The harrowed king of such a world shot through,
With pieces of the sky turned crystal tears.

Shattered clouds fall,
In a downpour of fragrant gemstones,
Resounding like a flowing tide,
Blaring a horn at their descent,
And in a moment whispering.

Loud and quiet like a wandering melody,
Vibrant and cautious like the patting of tiny feet,
They cover the earth in depths and shallows,
Pouring out from the heavens.

All the world rejoices,
For it rains on the righteous and the wicked,
And His grace calls out like rushing waters,
To turn from their darkness and dance in the rain with Him.