It's raining, it's pouring, the old man is snoring...

As the raindrops plink, plink, plink against my window panes

And the rumble of thunder and lightning waxes and wanes

I perch on the sofa with glasses on my face and a book in hand

Reading, absorbing time like the sifting of hourglass sand

While I drift afloat on another's words, the rain is pouring

And my sweet dear hubby has fallen asleep in his chair snoring

A peaceful feeling overwhelms me as I delve deeper in the prose

I snuggle back in the cushions reading and find myself taking a doze.