The last wind of winter has ceased its power. <br />It is memory now, and has no message to give. <br /> <br />The rains of spring have replaced the snow. <br />And spatter insistent tunes upon the roof. <br /> <br />From the ground, the plants have burst out. <br />Reminders of the cycle of life and renewal. <br /> <br />Early flowers busy in their own serenity. <br />Splashes of colour that arrive in splendour. <br /> <br />Oh falling rain, cleanse the dirt of the heart. <br /> <br />I find myself sitting on my back porch. <br />Surrounded by the discrimination of life. <br /> <br />Sighing gently to the pattern of the rain, <br />singing softly the songs of emerging spring. <br /> <br />Patterns of raindrops that hit the mind in <br />mud puddles of dank self imposed denial. <br /> <br />They are a growing source of cleansing <br />which shall shatter, for now, the winter grey. <br /> <br />O falling rain, cleanse the dirt of the heart. <br /> <br />Standing up, I become once again myself. <br />Moaning in unison with the rain, captivated <br /> <br />by the thoughts of what the waters bring. <br />I am entirely open to fountains of rebirth. <br /> <br />Vindictive tugging of thought interferes <br />with the cherished sunshine of awareness. <br /> <br />Rushing from my porch into the rain, <br />I pull each flower from the ground. <br /> <br />O falling rain, cleanse the dirt of the heart.<br /><br />Chris G. Vaillancourt<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/falling-rain-3/
