Late Rain

The sky, a canvas painted gray,

Weeps tears of rain, a mournful day.

The world, a garden, drenched and drowned,

As nature mourns, a mournful sound.

The raindrops fall, a gentle pitter-patter,

A soothing rhythm, a calming chatter.

They dance upon the window pane,

A watery ballet, free from pain.

The garden blooms, a vibrant sight,

Reborn from slumber, bathed in light.

The air is fresh, a cleansing breath,

As nature wakes, from death's cold death.

The late rain falls, a welcome sight,

A gift from heaven, pure and bright.

It quenches thirst, it nourishes the land,

A gentle touch, a helping hand.

So let the rain fall, let it pour,

A cleansing balm, forevermore.

A gift from nature, pure and true,

A blessing sent, for me and you.