The Gentle Rain

The gentle rain falls all around,
Feeding the flowers and the trees.
It forms streams along the ground,
And it touches me.

Not moving, here I sit,
Here under the trees.
The rain increases just a bit,
And it touches me.

With icy fingers, it touches me,
It seeps into my heart.
It sees all there is to see,
Then tears my soul apart.

Weak, bruised, and torn,
I lie here under the trees,
Feeling the anger and the scorn
Of the gentle rain as it touches me.


One Response to “The Gentle Rain”

  1. This one won an honorable mention in a ‘World of Poetry’ competition during the 1980s. This is one of my oldest poems, and I think the first one I ever entered into competition. I’m not really sure what inspired this. I always liked the sound and feel of rain, not sure why I gave it this twist.

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