Beneath the grey and heavy sky, a symphony begins,
Each drop a note, each puddle a reflective hymn.
The world slows down, in the gentle, rhythmic drumming,
Nature’s own orchestra, a melody so becoming.

The trees sway softly, to the tune of falling rain,
Leaves whisper secrets, in a language so arcane.
Streets are rivers, flowing with dreams anew,
Glistening mirrors, where the sky’s tears brew.

In the quiet moments, where time seems to stand still,
The patter of rain is a balm, a tranquil fill.
Memories float, in the cool, misty air,
Each droplet a story, each splash a silent prayer.

As night draws near, and the rain continues to play,
The world finds peace, in the soft, silver-grey.
Dreams are sown, in the fertile ground of night,
Watered by the whispers, of the rain’s gentle might.