The dropping temperature, And the strong breeze, Confirmed the weather forecast: Rain was coming. The dark, gray clouds rolled in Followed by thunder in the distance. The bumblebees became frantic, Flitting from flower to flower, Faster and faster, Among the foxglove, Determined to gather more pollen Before the rain forced them home. I heard the rain before I felt it, The brief rustle of a leaf That could have been an immature peach Softly falling from the tree Under which I was raking. The first drop landed on my cheek, Gently, Like a tender kiss.