“It’s raining.”
Said a woman, worrying of her clothes.
On the front porch, on strings, unprotected from the weather,
they were hanging.

“It’s raining!”
Said a child to his mother,
earning a knowing smile from his father.
Then the three of them got up and to the kitchen they bound,
enjoying hot chocolate accompanied by the “pitter-patter” sound.

“It’s raining?”
A man looked to another, both were working.
And they were wondering
how would they go home on their bikes in this weather.

“It’s raining.”
A face looked out a window, saying so
romantically.
The lover, coming closer,
then both enjoyed the moment quietly.

“It’s… raining!”
Farmers danced with glee.
For they’ve been caught in drought, you see.
Now they’re able to grow crops and feed their families.

“It’s raining.”
Said the weatherman on TV,
naming after a list of cities.

It matters not, how young or old.
If to dance in it you’re afraid or bold.
We all mutter it from time to time again,
as if welcoming a familiar foe or a friend.

“It’s raining.”

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