The music of the gentle rain works magic on my soul,
My chin upon the windowsill, I sigh.
I listen to the drumming of the thunder’s mighty roll,
The rhythm of the symphony on high.

The lightning’s flashing spirit, laughing, rips the day in twain,
Then, leaving ghost behind, it disappears.
Then, like a sprite, it reemerges through the pouring rain.
Dancing closer now, I think it hears.

It hears my thoughts, it hears my moods, it hears my memories,
It can see the pictures in my mind.
It listens, now, in full review, of ancient histories,
It understands me as I search to find.

And finding now I see it all through a time-lost haze,
Misty echoes of forgotten past
Returning, now, in all its glory, youth that was ablaze!
Did it really all go by so fast?

Cookies browning in the oven, need we stay inside?
No! Splashing through the puddles we get wet!
Dancing in the rain, making mud-pies on the side,
It isn’t really time to go in yet.

The rain sang black umbrella dirges when my mother died,
The service wasn’t really all that great.
They said that she would be all right; I see that someone lied.
I think we should go home; it’s getting late.

The rain, my tears, intermingled, grief mixed with despair,
And in the darkened gloom there’s time for pause.
We loved her so, but now she’s gone; the memory is fair.
And now we must move on, those are the laws.

The music of the gentle rain works magic on my soul,
My chin upon the windowsill, I sigh.
I listen in the distance to the thunder’s fading roll,
And as the shower stops, I say, “Goodbye!”