In the sticky grip of summer’s heat,
We ran, wild through cornfields tall,
Sky stretching wide, endless and neat,
Rain clouds creeping, a quiet call.

The breeze, a whisper, cool and sweet,
Promising relief from the day’s embrace,
We sought the barn, a swift retreat,
Breathless, hearts in a racing chase.

The first soft taps, a gentle tune,
Muffled on the corrugated roof,
Then the sky’s full song, a drumming swoon,
Deafening, yet offering proof—

That in the chaos, peace is found,
As rain cooled the earth and calmed the chest,
Lulled by the storm’s soothing sound,
In the hayloft, we found our rest.