Rain always brings a touch of sadness and reflection. It can be quiet and gentle, or it can fall like a wall. Its sounds can easily convey a melody of peace or anxiety. Rain washes away dust from the streets and brings freshness to nature, reminding us of the cyclical nature of life and the inevitability of change. These poems are an attempt to capture the various facets of this amazing phenomenon.<\/p>\n
\nDrops quietly tap on the roof, And the rain washes away the dust of the roads. The snowdrifts in the garden suddenly awaken, And the wind whispers something false. The trees are wet, bending slightly, And the world around is transformed. Washing in the summer cool, Nature has come to life again.\n <\/pre>\n<\/p><\/div>\n\nAutumn rain<\/h2>\n
\nThe leaves swirl in a wet waltz, And the sky is gray as smoke. Autumn rain, in a sad trance, Reminds everyone of the past. It drums on the cornice, And washes the glass like tears. In the empty fields, in the wilderness, It sounds like farewell prose. And in the distance, through the veil, A lantern burns like a beacon. And to this gray land A quiet, sad time comes.\n <\/pre>\n<\/p><\/div>\n\nSummer shower<\/h2>\n
\nSuddenly the sky frowns and weeps, And thunder rolls in the distance. A summer downpour rushes swiftly, Washing away the dust from the leaves of the earth. It refreshes everything around, And gives a rainbow in return. Quiet, like a good friend, It departs, leaving behind the light.\n <\/pre>\n<\/p><\/div>\n\nIt's raining outside the window<\/h2>\n
\nI look out the window at the dreary rain, It pours as if never ending. The world beyond the glass is so beautiful, It holds the sadness and silence of the creator. Shadows dance in the cascading streams, And the city seems different. Doubts are born in my soul, And thoughts in my head are like smoke. And hot tea warms me, And a book awaits me in my hands. The rain outside quietly plays, In calm, peaceful dreams.\n <\/pre>\n<\/p><\/div>\n\nEvening rain<\/h2>\n
\nAll is quiet, and all is still, Only the rain patters in the stillness of the night. Lights flicker in the distance, And thoughts are carried away into the wilderness. It whispers tales to the old roof, And lulls the city to sleep. In its melody you will hear Both joy and the bitter release of sorrow.\n <\/pre>\n<\/p><\/div>\n\nRain and the city<\/h2>\n
\nRain is reflected in puddles, And the city looks into them as if in a dream. Umbrellas flicker in the rush, And the wind drives the moan of deciduous leaves. Cars scatter spray, And the light of streetlights trembles in the water. The rain beautifies the gray city, In its sad beauty. It washes away the bustle and dust, And gives the city peace. There is a certain power in the rain, That fills the soul with itself.\n <\/pre>\n<\/p><\/div>\n\nAfter the rain<\/h2>\n
\nThe rain passed, and all became quiet, And the sun came out again. The dew in the grass glitters like beads, And love breathes freshness. The air is filled with coolness, And the birds sing merrily. The world has become brighter and dearer, And joy lives in the heart again.\n <\/pre>\n<\/p><\/div>\n\nWinter rain<\/h2>\n
\nWinter rain, cold and stinging, Beats on the glass, as if angry. It is gray, gloomy, and viscous, And the world around has become lifeless. The snow has melted, and it has become dirty, And the wind howls outside the window. Winter rain is sad at first, A reminder of winter later.\n <\/pre>\n<\/p><\/div>\n\nRain in the forest<\/h2>\n
\nIn the forest, the rain whispers softly and tenderly, Through the crowns of old trees. It pours softly and boundlessly, And gives the forest a new roar. The earth has greedily absorbed the moisture, And smells of rot and foliage. In the rainy forest, it is so pleasant To forget the struggles of the world.\n <\/pre>\n<\/p><\/div>\n\nRain and Memories<\/h2>\n
\nRain falls outside, and thoughts wander, To distant, forgotten days. Memories come alive, And sadness plays in voices. About those who were once near, About meetings, partings, dreams. The rain, like an old friend, naturally, Reminds of years gone by. It whispers secrets and mysteries, And opens hearts anew. There is magic in the rain, believe me, And strength, and hope, and love.\n <\/pre>\n<\/p><\/div>\n\nDrops on glass<\/h2>\n
\nDrops trickle down the glass, creating a whimsical pattern. They sing softly, creating a magical gaze. They dance and sparkle, in the rays of a dim lantern. And in this dance they freeze, like drops of existence.\n <\/pre>\n<\/p><\/div>\n\nRain and loneliness<\/h2>\n
\nThe rain pours, and I'm alone in the apartment, Embraced by silence and sleep. It echoes my lyre, And a wave fills my soul. Solitude isn't always bad, Sometimes it brings peace. The rain whispers softly and calmly, And carries away sadness. It helps me think, About life, about love, about fate. And to remain in this silence, Alone with myself, with myself.\n <\/pre>\n<\/p><\/div>\n\nSpring rain<\/h2>\n
\nSpring rain, so welcome, will awaken the earth from its slumber. It is warm, gentle, and welcome, and in it lies hope and spring. It will wash away the dirt and winter boredom, and give nature new growth. Spring rain is nature's torment, and life's joyful arrival.\n <\/pre>\n<\/p><\/div>\n\nRain and music<\/h2>\n
\nRain falls outside, and music plays, In harmony of sounds and elements. It resonates in my soul, And carries me away to a world of dreams. Rain and music are two eternal friends, They will always understand each other. There is something heartfelt in their union, Joy, sorrow, and torment.\n <\/pre>\n<\/p><\/div>\n\nThe last drops<\/h2>\n
\nThe rain has died down, and the sky is brightening, The last drops are pouring from the roof. And the world around is transformed, And the birds are singing joyfully. A rainbow suddenly sparkles in the distance, Like a bridge to another world. The rain has gone, leaving behind a mystery, And a new landmark in life.\n <\/pre>\n<\/p><\/div>\n<\/div>","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"Rain always brings a touch of sadness and reflection. It can be quiet and gentle, or it can fall like a wall. In its sounds, it's easy to hear\u2026<\/p>","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[59],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-134571","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-stihi"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/imgist.ru\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/134571","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/imgist.ru\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/imgist.ru\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/imgist.ru\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/imgist.ru\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=134571"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/imgist.ru\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/134571\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":136136,"href":"https:\/\/imgist.ru\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/134571\/revisions\/136136"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/imgist.ru\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=134571"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/imgist.ru\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=134571"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/imgist.ru\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=134571"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}