Rainfall

I loathed the wind on days that were dreary

reminded alone of her in spirit.

Silence abound: stirred, lamented,

a bastion of my own bereavement.

The air thus howled in darkened calm

I dreamt her distance as my own.

A fickle heart under gloomy clouds

the birds hath sang the morning sound.

I fought the day, I fought the yawn,

from waters poured on garden lawn.

Her image paced within my mind,

no spring could drown a lovers cry.

And perchance I happen, to grasp a breadth,

this lover died, sentenced to death.

The current comes on Friday's storm

sprig and leaf–lovers' torn.

Uprooted from this watered town,

a hole was left where thoughts were once found.

And as the breeze moves through mist,

sway alone, to dream a lover's kiss.