Drip, Drip, Drip, is the sound that is near
Right outside the window here.
Clouds rolling past all through the night
Spreading their moister on everything in sight.
Flashes of light can be seen far away.
Anticipating thunder, no sound comes this way.
Plants are all closed till the mornings first light
Soaking up the wetness, on into the night.
Sitting here in wonder, all covered and warm
Wishing for a fire, roasted nuts,and hot cocoa gallore.
With a book in hand, and nothing to disturb
But the Drip, Drip, Drip falling down on the curb.