Who clean the house-top gutters out,
And always tumble down the spout.
| · | · | · | · | · | · |
But, on the clouds that brought this rain,
A host of Raindrops still remain.
They stay there with their goods until
The cloud lands on a lofty hill;
Then stepping calmly off, they start
To carry out their special part.
They hunt up with their clever eyes
The springs where rills and brooklets rise,
And keep them clear and well filled up
With water from their magic cup.
They follow these little rills and brooks
Through open fields and shady nooks;
Then down the rivers wend their way,
To harbor, gulf, or open bay,
Until at last, bright, gay, and free,
They reach the mighty boundless sea.
The Drops who’ve worked on roofs and trees.
Before long join themselves with these,
And send word that their work is done
To the King of the Fairy World, the Sun,
Who sends his chariots from the skies;
And up in the air these Raindrops rise
To a cloud as white as the ocean’s foam,
Which, pushed by the Wind-God, takes them home.
