Drowsy

The rain sounds so much more furious in the summertime
It is gentler in the winter
Like it fought a good fight but now is weakened as I am by the cold and the dark and the end
It pitter-patters and drizzles
"Here is my last" 
Although I am grateful to the chilly days for ceasing every buzz and every hum on the wings of wasps, 
Winter kills everything. 
Even the rain. 
Even itself.
And because dark, cold, and damp make for a miserable triad, 
I am miserable, too.