Guest Poem: RAIN

My dad wrote this poem when he was in Dayton, Ohio, in summer of 1944 or 1945. I wonder what he was like as a teenager, as a young man, and then shouldering responsibility for his mom after his dad passed away not long after he went into the Army.

He left us February 27, 2014, and I bet — as he used to do after dates with mom — he lit a cigar, opened a window, and put on the radio for the ride home.

I hope you had a safe trip, daddy. I love you.

Rain by Harold Rosman

How often at night when I lay in my bed
Do I hear the patter of rain overhead
Do I wish to be free
As the raindrops I see?
The musical sounds as they strike the pane
Make me wish I was young again
To run through the street with joy
As though I was a little boy.
But alas I am mortal; there’s naught I can do
But listen and thrill until all is through.
I’ll dream of the rain so fresh and so sweet
That it catches my breath, makes my heart skip a beat.