What do you think of the rain,
Pouring down from a bosom of torn open sky?
Does it feel as if there is an end to goodness,
As clouds seemingly fill the wandering blue?
Do your senses run mad,
At the thought of this constant beating drum?
Will this deluge be forever,
Drowning us all in the misery of our own regrets?
My sun comes out in the fiercest of gales,
Where tree limbs toss in a raging sea.
My soul ignites with a rumble and roar,
as I stretch forth hungry arms to embrace each storm.
Caress my skin with traces of both cold and warm,
That I may never forget the touch of each drifting shower.
As a newly sprouted wick of green,
Let me drink up each mouthful of clarity and flourish.