We wait beside the window pane
For the pitter-patter of the rain
All along and down the lane
Nothing it shall leave the same.

We huddle down beside the fire,
As the music of the rain goes higher,
To tell stories, the grandma shall hire,
And will never stop till we feel tire.

â€œYour mother used to love the feel,
Of the falling of the vapoured sea,
But now all she does is to see,
And sit by the window, waiting for the tea.â€

Grandma always begins so
But her story shanâ€™t stop and will flow,
On how mother used to put a show
To go to the river in the rain and row.

Then sheâ€™ll turn to Mary and say,
â€œYour father could watch the rain all day,
Wishing that under the rain he could lay,
Until come out does the sunâ€™s rays.â€

With a chuckle over here
And a giggle over there
Her story wouldnâ€™t become mere,
And of her talking we shanâ€™t wear.

But Dolly wouldnâ€™t be in joy,
For she would like to go out, enjoy,
And roll about in the soaking soil,
In which the gardener had done his toil.

At last, when she couldnâ€™tresist,
She threw her hands in the air and said:

â€œBut all they do is pull us inside,
Away from the rain,
Away from the sight.
And if they loved it, by and by,
They couldnâ€™t change even if they try.â€

Grandma held Dolly in her arms,
Smiling, showing all her charm,
â€œOh my Dolly, your little qualm,
I shall answer, dear do calm.â€

Grandma then smiled and smiled,
I think she does even while asleep at night,
She looked to the fire at her right,
And to Dolly, she slowly returned her sight.

â€œAs they grow, themselves they tame,
Like the pitter patter of the rain,
Nothing it shall leave the same,
Nothing is left behind the same.â€

Sitting By the Fire On A Rainy Day (Thara Kalyani)