Don’t mourn the passing of the rain
It blossoms from the green fields around us
   where children play
And count “she loves me, she loves me not”
   on its petals
And where, in its shade,
   lovers count their unnumbered blessings
And each others’ charms

And where, more slowly, their parents walk
   and count the mingled years of joy and sorrow
Those past and those yet remaining –
and uncountable before tears of remembrance
   again become the rain

(Feb 2004)

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s