Rain
a Poem for the Modern Existentialist
Autumn winds blow—
the gentle touch of a cool, chill breeze.
The clouds have come again.
The first rains remind me
of younger days…
When I was in love with my best friend.
Rolling, frolicking,
grazing upon the sky.
The clouds are out to play.
Do you feel the rain—
the give of soft loam underfoot?
Do we see the same sky?
Pitter, patter
pit, pit, pat—
The rains have come again.
Pitter, patter
pit, pit, pat—
The rains have come again.
