A passing shower taps lightly at my window
in the dark.
I dig deeper in the blankets,
curling into my safety from the elements,
the most civilised sensation of them all,
night rain pattering at the defences,
never threatening, just reminding,
that out there waits the cold and wet,
ever patient in its patter at the glass,
playing at the pane with pretty design,
the better to lull me into sleep.
‘Twill be many years yet
before some raging storm
pulls a tile or a slate from the roof,
conspiring with the peaceful, harmless rain
that searches always for an entrance,
a way to prise me from my shelter,
the call to stem the seeping fingers
of the weather’s intent.
But for now such thoughts fade
in the comforting hand of the dark,
the bed clothes reassuring and
the rain a gentle lullaby of peace.
Line Count: 23
For The Daily Poem, July 12 2020