The rain falls on leaves like tiny mallets,
On big drums made from thin animal skin,
Staying dry is like walking through gauntlets,
Or trying to dodge multiple bodkins,
Listening to this calms my very soul,
I can find peace inside myself and sleep,
The day away, knowing my frame is whole,
If I cannot hear it, then I will weep,
Under the protection of a small tree,
I look onto the field full of fallen,
I feel, with those horrible sounds gone, free,
Sadly I hear that lovely sound soften,
Across the field comes a flash ever so bright,
And my day turns into permanent night.