It’s running down the window pane,

It’s splattering the cracked floor,

Crying out, the door opens again,

The shutters on the window slap,

Keeping in the heated room,

Wind whistling, the thunder booms,

It’s removing the flaky paint,

It crumbles it like bread,

Soaking, umbrellas fled,

It’s splashing on the earth,

The brown mud wet,

Touching, a washing those met,

It’s gushing down the gutters,

It’s crashing in the left lane,

Barrage, Volley, skies rain.

AN: I wrote this poem when it was really rainy and miserable outside. I hope you like it.