Draft in the author’s style. This poem was written for Poet of Bedtime Hush to sit beside the author’s own readings, and is waiting for the author’s review. The commentary is a working draft too.
When the rain sings softly on the roof and taps upon the pane,
It composes a lullaby for the heart to entertain.
Pit-a-pat, pit-a-pat, a tiny drummer's tune,
And a puddle plays the cymbals when it catches the moon.
The gutter is the cello, and the leaves are violins,
And the wind is a flute that whistles where the melody begins.
The whole night is a concert with no seats and with no fee,
And I have the finest ticket in my bed of history.
I close my eyes and count the drops as they slide along the glass,
And every drop that gently lands lets a heavy worry pass.
By the time the finale fades to a whisper and a sigh,
I am already dreaming of a rain-washed morning sky.
Poet of Bedtime Hush · Hear it on the channel ↗
Commentary
Rain on a roof is one of the oldest lullabies. This poem hears it as an orchestra and lets each raindrop carry a worry away.
The rain “sings softly on the roof” and taps “upon the pane,” composing “a lullaby for the heart.” The drumming goes “pit-a-pat,” a puddle “plays the cymbals,” the gutter is “the cello,” the leaves are “violins” and the wind is “a flute.”
The speaker calls it “a concert with no seats and with no fee” and closes their eyes to count “the drops as they slide along the glass.” Each drop lets “a heavy worry pass,” and by the finale the speaker is “already dreaming of a rain-washed morning sky.”