The Rain Passes By

It rains
same gray clouds
no green mountains, but concrete plains
cotton charcoal shrouds
sonorously unravel
splattering  circles on the gravel
it is not the same smell
of moistened grass
of moss and water well
as the clouds pass
and they pass and just go
to crash on the greenest walls
far away, where I used to be
where the tinkling lullaby
of the rain when falls
soothed my dreams
as it passed by.