James Lee Jobe writes

A rain shower arrived late at night, tickling like a clock. 

Rain against the windows, in the trees.
Tick-tock. Time is passing,
and our midnight becomes our morning.
Thick leaves, heavy with fat raindrops.
Water streaks on the dirty windowpanes.
What was it my grandfather said?
"Jesus might come to us as a hungry stranger.
Will you turn him away?"
Rain against the windows, in the trees.
Tick-tock. Time is passing,
and the rain is a clock,
the rain is my grandfather's voice,
his gentle kindness.
And our midnight becomes our morning
every day.
Have you eaten, friend?
 
 around the clock -- Chloe Gauntley