RIDGES OF THE ROOF

She waited anxiously
for the first summer rains:
large drops would gurgle down
the half-constructed drains.

"Will it be like the rhyme?"
She wondered.
"Will there be a first drop
hanging down the edge
of her tinned roof,
playful and nascent,
shaken but not fallen?
And then it would drop
in the wink of her eye,
followed by streams of rains
that might have collected
in her roof's ridges!"

Grandpa calls it
a symphony,
a tender, sweet symphony
like an age-old hymn
to eternity!
She knew not much,
but waited
for the first summer rains,
knowing not
that she would
miss those rains which might have
gathered on her roof's ridges!