Here Comes The Rain

I look up at the sky
it is grey instead of blue,
I think that's a sign
of what the Gods just might do.

They just might rain down
their little silver arrows,
Fired from the grey clouds-
their mighty bows.

With bolts of lighting
lighting up every lane,
And claps of thunder
they applaud the rain.

The Plants and trees
turn a lusher green,
The dirty pavements
are getting cleaned.

The farmer rejoices
as the raindrops descend,
The cuckoos give their concerts
which the frogs too attend.

After a while, the clouds bid good bye,
the raindrops are now much fewer.
The rain has stopped, leaving behind,
a world looking fresher, newer.

The sun shows his golden crest once more,
but it is still not the end of the rain.
Its essence still lingers, telling us that
It just might visit tomorrow, again.