The sleepy sky has not yet wak’ed:
The street is darkly melancholic;
A drizzle paints a misty haze,
And dampens any frolic.
The silence of the gloomy street,
By feet splashing a steady beat
Why did you have to come today?
A pitcher of rain pours down,
Around the sopping ground;
The foggy air has found
A sound which can’t abound
My old man is snoring!
The pattern of the rain on tin:
A din o’er which sound
The dreary sky is still asleep,
But now it’s dusky twilight;
The rain still sheds a drowsy tear,
And the hazy street has lost its sight.