Of Tears and Brolly

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