When I hear pitter-patter, the rain on the window,
Reminds of her.
When I hear pitter-patter, the rain on the window.
It was raining hard,
The trees looked bare the night I met her.
She was wet, her hands were cold,
The wind blew through her hair.
Though I’d known her quite a long time,
We were just good friends.
So it didn’t seem so strange
Inviting her back home.
We sat by the fire.
The flames brought out something in her.
Melting all the cold,
Projecting warmth I never knew.
As the rain beat on my window,
Did she understand
That in the glow of dying embers,