rain in poetry

the rain isn’t bitter
when it falls cold on
your head in early winter
the rain isn’t nurturing
in the spring when it
falls warm on your field
the rain is indifferent
the rain just is
the rain draws no joy
from the puddle that you
splashed in as a child
the rain knows no pain
when it makes the river rise
to watch your old home away
or maybe something even worse
but the rain doesn’t feel
the rain just works
by atomic polarity and
gravity’s fierce symmetry and
the crystal seeds that sit in the sky
you demean both yourself and the rain
when you stop to ask why
the rain rains because that’s what it is
but you get to choose
you have to have reasons for what you did
try not to be too jealous
of the rain