The sweet fragrance of soaked Earth, thick clouds, the pitter-patter of showers, soothing sound of flowing water, brooding birds in the trees, colorful umbrellas, and hot coffee are just a few of the lovely things we associate with the rainy season. Let the little ones know how beautiful the season is by reading our collection of rain poems for kids. You may even grab an umbrella and go outside with your children to appreciate its beauty in a poetic form. It’s a good idea to spend quality time with your children and educate them simultaneously.

20 Rain Poems And Songs For kids

1. April Rain Song

Let the rain kiss you Let the rain beat upon your head with silver liquid drops Let the rain sing you a lullaby The rain makes still pools on the sidewalk The rain makes running pools in the gutter The rain plays a little sleep song on our roof at night And I love the rain. —Langston Hughes

2. Rain Music

On the dusty earth-drum Beats the falling rain; Now a whispered murmur, Now a louder strain. Slender, silvery drumsticks, On an ancient drum, Beat the mellow music Bidding life to come. Chords of earth awakened, Notes of greening spring, Rise and fall triumphant Over everything. Slender, silvery drumsticks Beat the long tattoo— God, the Great Musician, Calling life anew. —Joseph Seamon Cotter

3. Rain

The rain is raining all around, It falls on field and tree, It rains on the umbrellas here, And on the ships at sea. —Robert Louis Stevenson

4. Who Likes The Rain

“I,” said the duck. “I call it fun, For I have my pretty red rubbers on; They make a little three-toed track In the soft, cool mud—quack! Quack!” “I,” cried the dandelion, “I, My roots are thirsty, my buds are dry,” And she lifted a tousled yellow head Out of her green and grassy bed. Sang the brook: “I welcome every drop, Come down, dear raindrops; never stop Until a broad river you make of me, And then I will carry you to the sea.” “I,” shouted Ted, “for I can run, With my high-top boots and raincoat on, Through every puddle and runlet and pool I find on the road to school.” —Clara Doty Bates

5. Rain In Summer

How beautiful is the rain! After the dust and heat, In the broad and fiery street, In the narrow lane, How beautiful is the rain! How it clatters along the roofs Like the tramp of hoofs! How it gushes and struggles out From the throat of the overflowing spout! Across the window-pane It pours and pours; And swift and wide, With a muddy tide, Like a river down the gutter roars The rain, the welcome rain! —Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

6. Rain Poem

The rain was like a little mouse, Quiet, small, and gray, It pattered all around the house And then it went away. It did not come, I understand, Indoors at all, until, It found an open window and Left tracks across the sill. —Elizabeth Coatsworth

7. Summer Rain

What could be lovelier than to hear the summer rain Cutting across the heat, as scythes cutting across grain? Falling upon the steaming roof with sweet uproar, Tapping and rapping wildly at the door? No, do not lift the latch, but through the pane We’ll stand and watch the circus pageant Of the rain, And see the lightening, like a tiger, striped and dread, And hear the thunder cross the shaken sky With elephant tread. —Elizabeth Coatsworth

8. Raindrops

Clouds come floating into my life, no longer to carry rain or usher storm, but to add color to my sunset sky. —Rabindranath Tagore

9. The Water Cycle

When I was young, I used to think, That water came from the kitchen sink. But now I’m older, and I know, That water comes from rain and snow. It stays there, waiting in the sky, In clouds above our world so high. And when it falls, it flows along, And splashes out a watery song, as each raindrop is joined by more And rushes to the ocean shore, or to a lake, a brook, a stream, From which it rises, just like steam. But while it’s down here what do you think? Some DOES go to the kitchen sink! —Helen H. Moore

10. The Rainy Day

The day is cold, and dark, and dreary; It rains, and the wind is never weary; The vine still clings to the moldering wall, But at every gust the dead leaves fall. And the day is dark and dreary. My life is cold, and dark, and dreary; It rains, and the wind is never weary; My thoughts still cling to the moldering Past, But the hopes of youth fall thick in the blast, And the days are dark and dreary. Be still, sad heart! and cease repining; Behind the clouds is the sun still shining; Thy fate is the common fate of all, Into each life some rain must fall, Some days must be dark and dreary. —Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

11. The Rain

He is coming the gentle Rain, Riding his steed, the wind; And over the dusty plain Where grasses thirstily pined Floats a sigh— “He is nigh!” And the thunder grumbles his name To the lightning’s questioning glance; While the air, like a restless flame, Quivers and glows and pants With the cry— “He is nigh!” —Ruby Archer

12. Before The Rain

We knew it would rain, for all the morn, A spirit on slender ropes of mist Was lowering its golden buckets down Into the vapory amethyst Of marshes and swamps and dismal fens— Scooping the dew that lay in the flowers, Dipping the jewels out of the sea, To sprinkle them over the land in showers. We knew it would rain, for the poplars showed The white of their leaves, the amber grain Shrunk in the wind— and the lightning now Is tangled in tremulous skeins of rain! —Thomas Bailey Aldrich

13. The Summer Shower

Before the stout harvesters falleth the grain, As when the strong stormwind is reaping the plain, And loiters the boy in the briery lane; But yonder aslant comes the silvery rain, Like a long line of spears brightly burnished and tall. Adown the white highway like cavalry fleet, It dashes the dust with its numberless feet. Like a murmurless school, in their leafy retreat, The wild birds sit listening the drops round them beat; And the boy crouches close to the blackberry wall. The swallows alone take the storm on the wing, And, taunting the tree-sheltered laborers, sing. Like pebbles, the rain breaks the face of the spring, While a bubble darts up from each widening ring; And the boy in dismay hears the loud shower fall. But soon are the harvesters tossing their sheaves; The robin darts out from his bower of leaves; The wren peereth forth from the moss-covered eaves; And the rain-spattered urchin now gladly perceives That the beautiful bow bendeth over them all. —Thomas Buchanan Read

14. Woodland Rain

Shining, shining children Of the summer rain, Racing down the valley, Sweeping o’er the plain! Rushing through the forest, Pelting on the leaves, Drenching down the meadow With its standing sheaves; Robed in royal silver, Girt with jewels gay, With a gust of gladness You pass upon your way. Fresh, ah, fresh behind you, Sunlit and impearled, As it was in Eden, Lies the lovely world! —Bliss Carman

15. Rain

The clouds are shedding tears of joy, They fall with rhythmic beat Upon the earth, and soon destroy Dust dunes and waves of heat. Each falling drop enforcement bears To river, lake and rill, And sweet refreshment gladly shares With wooded dell and hill. Every flower, bud and leaf, Each blossom, branch and tree Distills the rain, ’tis my belief, To feed the honey bee. I pity every wretch I find Who, frowning in disdain, Is deaf and dumb and also blind To beauty in the rain. —Raymond Garfield Dandridge

16. Rain

Sharp drives the rain, sharp drives the endless rain. The rain-winds wake and wander, lift and blow. The slow smoke-wreaths of vapor to and fro Wave, and unweave, and gather and build again. Over the far gray reaches of the plain— Gray miles on miles my passionate thought must go,— I strain my sight, grown dim with gazing so, Pressing my face against the streaming pane. How the rain beats! Ah God, if love had power To voice its utmost yearning, even tho’ Thro’ time and bitter distance, not in vain, Surely Her heart would hear me at this hour, Look thro’ the years, and see! But would She know The white face pressed against the streaming pane? —Sir Charles G.D. Roberts

17. Windless Rain

The rain, the desolate rain! Ceaseless, and solemn, and chill! How it drips on the misty pane, How it drenches the darkened sill! O scene of sorrow and dearth! I would that the wind awaking To a fierce and gusty birth, Might vary this dull refrain Of the rain, the desolate rain: For the heart of heaven seems breaking In tears o’er the fallen earth, And again, again, again, We list to the sombre strain, The faint, cold monotone— Whose soul is a mystic moan— Of the rain, the mournful rain, The soft, despairing rain! The rain, the murmurous rain! Weary, passionless, slow, ‘Tis the rhythm of settled sorrow, ‘Tis the sobbing of cureless woe! And all the tragic of life, The pathos of Long-Ago, Comes back on the sad refrain Of the rain, the dreary rain, Till the graves in my heart unclose, And the dead who are buried there From a solemn and weird repose Awake,—but with eyeballs drear, And voices that melt in pain On the tide of the plaintive rain, The yearning, hopeless rain, The long, low, whispering rain! —Paul Hamilton Hayne

18. April Rain

The April rain, the April rain, Comes slanting down in fitful showers, Then from the furrow shoots the grain, And banks are fledged with nestling flowers; And in grey shaw and woodland bowers The cuckoo through the April rain Calls once again. The April sun, the April sun, Glints through the rain in fitful splendour, And in grey shaw and woodland dun The little leaves spring forth and tender Their infant hands, yet weak and slender, For warmth towards the April sun, One after one. And between shower and shine hath birth The rainbow’s evanescent glory; Heaven’s light that breaks on mists of earth! Frail symbol of our human story, It flowers through showers where, looming hoary, The rain-clouds flash with April mirth, Like Life on earth. —Mathilde Blind

19. The Rain Upon The Corn

How sweet the music of the rain, At evening or morn, When clouds with trails that reach the ground Pass o’er the fields of corn. Man’s work is done. The toiling days Of heat and anxious care Are ended, and the falling rain With music fills the air. How long and hard the fight since first Was turned the lifeless sod, Since first the harrow surged its way To pulverize each clod, How long since planting of the seed, The sacrifice each morn, To keep the weeds from growing where Now stands the field of corn. Out from my window to the fields I cast a grateful eye, I see the raindrops falling down From out the cloudy sky, And as they fall upon the fields New hopes in me are born, For plenty dwells when July rains Fall on the fields of corn. —Ed Blair

20. Rhyme

I like to see a thunderstorm, A dunder storm, A blunder storm, I like to see it, black and slow, Come stumbling down the hill. I like to hear a thunderstorm, A plunder storm, A wonder storm, Roar loudly at our little house And shake the window sills! —Elizabeth Coatsworth