When it rains on a cold,whispering evening. At that time nothing is important. Homework is further delaid and dinner would not be made. The sound of it tapping on my windows, the sight of it paint the floor with H2O, and witnessing how it brought that tree back to life. Then music plays in my room, my fingers begin to feel the pressing and dropping of the keys. On an evening such this how could you not  want to play moonlight Sonata. The sound that increases the cherished moment with every ding and doon, Baum and da. Then the crumpling of the sky does give me a fright but also an enjoyable rush. The corners of my lips being to ascend, my voice of cheer does so too. You can complain about how it ruins you hair or how it leaves ponds instead of puddles, but let me tell you this, it is a symble of revie. I also have question for you, what makes you happy enough to write a poem?