On the Porch

I like rainstorms.


The tranquil song they sing of heavy drops on supple leaves.

Or the melody of a tin roof’s laughter.

The roar of the wind and the thunder
Like the echoes of a thousand blows,
The mighty conflict of ancient gods.

Rain is romantic, feeding a falling into love;
Yet also it completes both battlefield and funeral.

Does each drop that falls have a name?