The rain washes away the scum of the earth,
The oil of automobiles, the litter from the careless,
It is His tears upon the parched,
Which descend into the wastelands.

The impure get a shower,
With the rain, comes the exposure of ugly, of dirt,
Of clean.
The rain, the perfect paradox.

A cold, rainy day is a symphony,
The raindrops dripping from ceilings are the percussion instruments that setup the rhythm,
The rumbles of the Earth are the screeches of the stringed instruments,
The blowing draft is the sinuous wind instrument section
And He is the conductor.

The rain is the perfume of the winter,
The therapeutic aroma of the wet asphalt and the wet trees,
Is my serenity.

The rain is the supplement of the flora and fauna
With its fall, comes a rise
With its end, comes new life
From grey to green
From depressed to blissful
How mystical.