Rain

 I seem to have written quite a few poems on various kinds of precipitation. Maybe I'll make a series out of it.

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Rain comes falling,
Down to the ground.
Upon every surface,
It begins to pound.

Walkers and runners look in disgust,
And rush back to whence they came.
But why do they feel that they must
Hurry out of the rain?

Because this rain is a wondrous thing,
Not a curse to hide from in fear.
And so I rejoice when it begins raining,
At any time of the year.

Summer, Winter, Autumn or Spring,
Noting can stop the joy it brings.
So why do people hide away from the rain,
Without which we would not be what we have became?

Rain comes falling,
Down to the ground.
And in my joy,
I dance around.

Rain comes falling,
Down to the ground.
I look but see,
No-one to be found.

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Author's  notes:
This was written quite a while ago now, and I think you can tell. I still agree with the sentiment though:)