Five o’clock this morning.

The sound of April rain.
On the ground and on the tiles
It comes cascading down.

In the darkness I can hear it
In the hush outside,
Where no birds sing, no joggers talk,
Or morning cyclers ride.

The early morning traffic’s noise
Hasn’t yet begun.

Even early morning risers here
Have decided to sleep in.

In the hush of falling rain,
In dark and solitude,
I meditate in April showers
In tranquil gratitude.