RAIN
The lamppost, tristful,
Somnolent and wistful,
Receives the misty rain,
Which kisses every bough with tears,
As it has done now for years,
Under the long, gray curtain
Of billowing, heavy skies.
Such tears
Are certain.
For the gaze of my eyes,
Sadly and full of pain,
Wanders madly like a breeze,
Wayward and winding,
Beneath the wet
Silhouette
Of linden trees.
And yet,
With nothing apparently binding,
I call to mind my reveries
To render some portion of the day
To the realm of joy,
As I would do as a boy,
Dreaming of light in spite of my sorrow,
Hoping for a bright, golden tomorrow,
Lost in a bed of amber hay.
~ John Lars Zwerenz
visionarywanderings.com
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