It rains, it rains
The rivulets run down
irregular but constant
and the sound
is soporific and insistent.
That crow outside
is definitely wet
This afternoon will grant no respite
So I need to think
of inner light
and two delightful people
who were suns for me today
lighting up the rooms
and spreading warmth
The glow has stayed —
A lavished layer of brightness
in the lining of my being
Soft as fur
Warm as tended fire.
May 11, 2011