Translucent and cold

By the time they strike the ground

They are ages old

The way they hit the pavement

The way stories of clouds are never told

The nerve of them is daunting

When they wet the fabric of the fold

Of clothes is simply, truly, clearly, bold

Each individual raindrop

Has no fixed shape or mold

The torrent awakens those outside

And in the night it croons a little cry

It pitter-patters, flutters, flies

And from their dance upon the roof

Comes the feeling called, "aloof"

Calming like a lullaby

When they fall they never die

Falling from a cloudy sky

Gnarled branches, crooked

Never lie

And in the darkness, the wind sighs