What man built up the wind and rain tore down
The fields he cleared the jungle fought to reclaim
Not one would mind, neither bird nor tree
If all of mankind perished utterly
There will come soft rains
And the smell of the ground
There will come soft rains
And swallows circling with shimmering sound
And wild plum trees in tremulous white
Immersed in the chorus of singing at night
There will come soft rains
And not one will know of the war, not one...
And Spring herself when she woke at dawn
Would scarcely know that we were gone