Tears from the Sky

A poem of a droplet of water

In her own inimitable way
she started with little to say
then gathered momentum
in too much of a rush to stay.

She was born in a river or a lake
and only one droplet did it take
to be pulled from the mist
by lightening or a cloud break.

She then floated next to the sun
and felt it fun to turn to rain
on a ticket on the run
then take a trip on the fast train.

She falls in superlative sequels
unknown to have any equals
tears fall from the sky
with a rush whimper and cry
on the wings of airborne storm eagles.

Some call the lady the rain
but long before people came
she would fall day and night
regardless and in spite
of what men could predict or ordain.

She still sits in the heavens alone
in majesty poised on her throne
always ready to fall
and when given the call
floats by any wind she is blown.

She is superlative and supreme
and falls to the earth in a dream
some say she has no name
but I call her the rain
as she increases the volume downstream.

©

David Rudder
27th June 2020

Thank you for reading.