April Rain It is not raining rain to me, Its raining daffodils In every dimpled drop I see Wild flowers on the hills. The clouds of gray engulf the day And overwhelm the town It is not raining rain to me, Its raining roses down. It is not raining rain to me, But fields of clover bloom, Where any buccaneering bee May find a bed and room. A health unto the happy A fig for him who frets It is not raining rain to me, Its raining violets.
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