The rain fell soft on cobbled stone,
Each drop a whisper, not alone.
I walked the streets of yesterday,
Where echoes of my childhood played.

The corner store, the old brick wall,
The park where leaves began to fall.
The bridge we crossed with secret plans,
Barefoot and careless, hand in hand.

But now the swings are worn with rust,
The laughter buried deep in dust.
The store is closed, its windows bare,
No scent of candy in the air.

And yet the rain still sings the same,
It calls my footsteps, speaks my name.
Though time has washed my youth away,
Some part of me still hears its sway.

For memories are rain that stays,
A quiet mist, a silver haze.
And though the past may seem so far,
Its drops still dance where footprints are.