Rain
I woke in the rain
On a drizzle-day
And found,
I could care again.
I believed that we could find a way
Back out of the dragon’s den.
“O, it’s hard!” I thought
As the tears ran down
In the endless mist of rain
To write neatly without
Besmearing the book
And I found I could care again.
There’s a little off-end
Of a wet cigarette
That you put out against
A wet rock,
And I hope that you’ll leave it,
That end,
Unsmoked
And opt up, instead
For a piece of bread
That we’ll break with the wine
In the cup.
Copyright © Andrew Fairchild | Year Posted 2021
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