Sometimes, in morning rains, I’ll sit and wonder,
Where the drops will choose to wander,
Once they reach the earth,
Or what their drizzle thoughts might be,

Of wanderlust or reverie?

The pitter-patter songs sing out to me,
Insightful serendipities,
Adagios of splash and serenades in liquid trill,
I ponder, if, perhaps it’s fear they feel,
Or maybe thrill,

Or homesick memories,

At day’s end.
When broken rays of sun descend,
To reprehend the weather woes, 
I wonder,

After drops arise, 
Into their stratus homes arrive,
How soon the wispy domes,
Will once more span the sullen sky,
And start the drizzle trips again.