The Strangeness of Rain Falling Amidst Birdsong

Everywhere today, the misting sound that seems to cling
  to every leaf and each blade of grass like an oration
   that speaks a thing into being
Talk to me of inspiration at the moment when it first fills
  the whole body with something solid and unyielding
Bend my ear with how that thin veneer obviously means so
  much more than the weather and how wet it is outside
And under the evident drizzle
  less than the saturation of potential prisms on everything
   surrounding as far as these eyes now see
    as far as I might ever need to write about anything (muse)
    where melodic car alarms or snooze buttons interrupt
    I believe I can be thankful for headaches in still life
I believe I can be thankful for the heartbeat uncorrupt
  and one good eye, one good ear and tomorrow
   even though the forecast is for dry
    I will hum along to that birdsong though the words escape me
It will never be too rainy a day for that

                                                                                FRS