Down in wherever I'm from, you could smell the Rain come,
upon a light breeze, rustling past the trees.
Then the crack of thunder, the sky torn asunder
a tarp of drops descends, with it the tease ends.
Down comes a silver screen, rushing over the green,
flooding all you can see, flowing up to your knee.
Over your humble form the waters would swarm,
washing away burden, for living a just guerdon.
Down beneath the nimbus, you would be fearless
just a life on a sphere, tiny and wet, cold and clear.
Now baptised and free, filled with purest glee
Until you're brought back home, for in wet socks never roam.
