Pitter-patter, a rhythmic sound,
As rain descends upon the ground.
The world is washed in silver hue,
A soothing sight, a gentle view.
People gather, find their bliss,
In cozy homes, with steaming tea or kiss.
They watch the rain, a calming sight,
A moment's peace, a tranquil night.
But what of rain, does it have thought?
A feeling, a wish, a purpose sought?
Perhaps it yearns to quench the thirst,
Of parched fields, where crops are cursed.
Or maybe rain just loves the feel,
Of dancing droplets, down the hill.
A simple joy, a carefree state,
Content to fall, to dissipate.