The Sky Cries

Rain by Edward Thomas (Image)

Rain, midnight rain, nothing but the wild rain
On this bleak hut, and solitude, and me
Remembering again that I shall die
And neither hear the rain nor give it thanks
For washing me cleaner than I have been
Since I was born into this solitude.
Blessed are the dead that the rain rains upon:
But here I pray that none whom once I loved
Is dying to-night or lying still awake
Solitary, listening to the rain,
Either in pain or thus in sympathy
Helpless among the living and the dead,
Like a cold water among broken reeds,
Myriads of broken reeds all still and stiff,
Like me who have no love which this wild rain
Has not dissolved except the love of death,
If love it be towards what is perfect and
Cannot, the tempest tells me, disappoint

Rain is often considered to be the tears of the Heavens above, the clouds being the every looming sorrow in our lives. The rhythm of the rain being the gentle sobs of nature itself. As the rain descends, so does with it  melancholy. Nature has life lessons all around us, and even the rain washes away everything that one knows, much like time takes away our loved ones, and eventually death does us part. And faced with the undeniable truth of life, one can only listen to the rhythm of the falling droplets.
Title: Rain
Year of Poem: 1916
Writer: Edward Thomas
Birthplace of Writer:United Kingdom