The sun goes; then, the rain,
as if just to soothe the pain:
that e’en to a non-nature admiring loon,
’tis a boon;

For he, is to visualise, the scenic splendour;
and the trees, who stand-to honour.
The pathways, soaked in ponds,
the leaves bathed in diamonds.

While He smiles -the Creator,
His glory comes in a shower
and the earth is blessed,
until the fall is ceased.

The morrow, at early dawn,
is the trickle, vast in the lawn
Colourless crystals as they seem:
this little gleam
lifts our hearts, not a few;
yet, no hue for a dew!