The whispering rain of England falls,
Softly tapping on our window panes,
A gentle dance of droplets small,
In misty air and winding lanes.

With every drop, a story told,
Of ancient woods and cobblestone,
The memories of times of old,
In every splash, their echoes shown.

The grey of skies, a comfort brings,
To hearts that seek a quiet calm,
The rain, a song that softly sings,
A soothing, tender, healing balm.

So let the English rain descend,
In whispered tones, a sweet refrain,
A faithful, constant, timeless friend,
That washes sorrow with its rain.