For the town of Somerton, rain is a rarity.

When it rains the town becomes something no sane man can describe,

It is as if it takes on a whole new identity.

The smell fills every pair of nostrils,

Giving a sweet high to all those that inhale.

It wafts through the area for miles.

When the first drop of life falls onto the ancient dust,

The earth becomes rejuvenated.

Dirt turning into clay, obliterating its great crust

Sounds coming from each little dagger falling,

Hitting the windows, roofs, and any object within reach.

Sounds so mesmerizing, everything starts lolling.

The power is as if God has concentrated a portion of his strength,

And funneled it into the willpower of the storm.

Showing his control to any great length.

Falling from the sky, the rain creates a sheet.

Blocking your vision like a protective mother,

Shielding her child’s eyes from those who mistreat.

Wind wraps every being in a grip of trounce,

Whipping everything back and forth.

Never giving a sign of renounce.

For the town of Somerton, rain is a rarity.

When it rains the town becomes something no sane man can describe,

It is as if it takes on a whole new identity.