raindrops

I hear the raindrops slowly run
Gently down the windowpane,
In the West, last rays of un
Fade in heavy winter rain

Running down against their will,
Fighting battles they can’t win,
Dying the windowsill,
Breathless, joyless, lifeless then.

Yet as I watch the raindrops weave,
A flash is seen out in the night,
A crack of light in dark’s reprieve,
A bolt of lightning shining bright

A life so short,
Yet not so dull,
A sharp report,
And then a lull,

As if the raindrops softly pause,
Considering the flash of light,
Then fall to earth and in Death’s jaws,
Consumed, forget the flash so bright.

Yet in Death’s grip, the bolt is free
No longer tortured by mortal pain,
It leaves a scar upon a tree,
That drank up a million drops of rain.

And as I think of that smoking stain,
Left forever in the tree,
Is it better to be a drop of rain,
Or live as lightning: brief, but free?