Rain

I hear the rain, falling gently on the roof
I can picture the droplets gathering and flowing
Through the grooves of the corrugated sheet.
My house (home house home house yes)
With its tiled, tapered roof, had a metal sluice
Of sorts, to collect rain water.
When it rained, we stood beneath it
And caught the first faint trickle of water
On our heads, each shoving and pushing the other.
And when it turned a gushing torrent, I’d stand there still
Even as others left. Seems as if I grew up in the rain.
Rain that fell on my head
Rain that left leaves and debris from the roof, on my head
Rain that turned pure later, distilled and clear
And yet failed to wash me of my sins.