Summer rain is soft,
Like sleepover whispers,
A door latch closed with care,
Murmured early mornings. 
Petrichor air, plush and muffled.
The ground thirsty, thick with forgiving grass. 
The earth drinks. 

Spring rain is tense.
Dancing between gasping breaths of winter,
Sharp flurries and gulps of sunshine.
Washing grey away for green,
Peeping yellow, violet, pink emerge.
Melting frost to puddles. 
Indecisive life.

Autumn rain is stubborn. 
Clinging to summer between prickings of cold,
A swansong before the dark. 
The smell of wet bark and sticky leaves,
Rich and damp underfoot. 
Weeping downpours mourn
Floods of tears. 

Winter rain is strict, 
Defined as a ringing school bell,
Timetables on schedule. 
Rain comes, cold and bleak,
Scoured of life, vitality, promise. 
The occasional lapse in judgement,
For joyous snow or furious hail. 
A world away from shushing summer rain.