The Rain (By Eve Curras)

     We sat in the car, my clothes soaked to the skin, beads of water dripping down my forehead.  My mother and I had just raced against the rain, and as always, the rain had won.  It was just the two of us now, the only sound was that of the struggling heater and the pitter patter of droplets on the windshield.  I remarked how the rain was depressing.  My mother turned to me, saying "You shouldn't ever say that.  It will melt the snow."  And I found myself thinking hard about what she said, so I decided to write a poem about it.

The Rain

The promise of the first snowfall

Cold, white water brings the enchantment of Christmas time

But soon cold water is simply cold

And snow becomes vexatious

Pounds of white to be shoveled, not cherished

And winter is bitter, like a foul taste on your tongue

But April brings the rain

Winter wonderland becomes a distasteful memory

And only gloom remains

But with the rain comes the promise of green

And eventually the snow is gone, like all things

A breath of warmth is blown

Flowers take their shape among the growing grass

The sun dances across the pavements

Jackets are forgotten, boots left behind

The promise of rebirth hums in the air

So I thank the rain

For the fresh starts, a time of new beginnings

And for melting the snow