Raindrops on my window, like a serenade, Each gentle touch, a melody played. Caressing glass with an intimate shade, Whispering tales in cascades.

Raindrops on my window, tapping out a rhythm, Dancing to the tune of a heavenly dictum. Under the moon's spectral prism, Sculpting a liquid wisdom.

Raindrops on my window, night's gentle weeping, Echoes of the sky, secrets it's keeping. As the world lays in slumber, sleeping, They trace tales of longing and leaping.

Raindrops on my window, mirrors of the storm, Yet in their chorus, I find a warmth, a form. Amidst thunder's roar, they perform, A gentle lullaby, far from the norm.

Raindrops on my window, silvered by the moon, Each one, a note in night's soft tune. In their tender fall, I am immune, To the world's chaos, to life's fickle boon.

Raindrops on my window, etching a song, A symphony of silence to which I belong. Their cadence, strong yet sweetly drawn, Sings of life, of love, of dawn.

Raindrops on my window, harbingers of grace, Painting the world with their soft embrace. In their tender touch, I trace, The rhythm of the universe, the beauty of space.

Raindrops on my window, lull the night to rest, Under their touch, my heart feels blessed. Their dance, a testament, a quiet jest, Of life's fleeting moments, beautifully expressed.

~S.W