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Poem

Of Tears And Brolly 

Funny how sad 
     raindrops feel, 
Weather as mad
     as a glockenspiel,
Tinkling on our skin 
     like an overture 
To the sopping grin 
     of a cloud, demure. 

Laugh, my darling, 
    'tis but a storm, 
Sparking and snarling 
     far from the norm, 
'tis love and madness 
     in secret huddles, 
Weeping their sadness 
     into comical puddles. 

Strange, how smiley 
     drowning feels, 
Yet we do it wryly 
     in whimpering squeals, 
To love and to lose 
     in a familiar sky, 
Like those dull grey hues
     in the corner of your eye. 

Come, my lover, 
    'tis but a whim, 
Of mackintosh cover, 
     and tilted brim, 
'tis the helter-skelter 
     of a fickle heart 
That oft seeks shelter 
     as lovers part. 

'Tis the pitter patter 
     of tears and brolly, 
The showery scatter 
     of melancholy, 
Yet we dare not speak 
     nor tempt goodbyes, 
As I wet your cheek
     and you dry my eyes. 

Sleep, my dear, 
    'tis time for dreams, 
To disappear 
    with the rain it seems, 
'Tis a sky of blue, 
   'tis yours,'tis mine, 
Because we always knew 
     that the sun would shine. 

©RJVHorton2017

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