The rain spills on the autumn beds;
The leaves reach up to greet
The little drops that heaven spills
To wash the garden’s feet
The cadences of restless rain
Disturb the quiet beds
The tattered petals droop and fall
From battered blossom’s heads
And still the rain, continuing,
Splashes the mud to mire
The garden droops beneath the blows
Of rain that will not tire
But as the blooms lay down their heads
Torn, broken in their plight,
They know the rains will someday cease,
The sun shine warm and bright,
And all the raindrops heaven spilt
Will sparkle in the light.
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