Raindrops clash against the window pane,
Playing softly, sweet notes and such a melody.
Oh, but for life to hold such a beauty as rain,
To drown out somber songs of despondency.
Sitting and waiting, late at night, for clouds
To part and show a glimpse of silver moon,
My eyes upon that ghostly night-time shroud
That dances always, always, to the raindrop tune.
I close my book, tucking pen in page, making
A mark with which to return to simple rhyme,
Listening to that musical pane, its breaking
Halting melody that beats with the passing of time.
Wow, my first piece in iambic pentameter. It isn’t perfect, but it’ll do. Thanks for reading.