Hush, let the soft sound of the rain hit the tin roof,

The rough rusty roof,

Let it be proof that not all is perfect, but that from imperfection,

Beauty can be created.

A sound as simple as rain on a roof will never be outdated.

As the child bangs a spoon against the saucepan top,

It is a drum,

And as with any drum, we should listen and ground ourselves and dance to its beat,

Let our hearts swell.

As the beat pushes our blood into each and every cell.

Clipity clapity clackity, fingers brush ever so slightly against the keyboard,

A rhythm of intensity,

As if it were meant to be, faster, slower, there is a slight flow to it,

A pause and a single thought.

The ending was sought.