Tasting the Warmest Rain

Spring, as always, has mild days of sun and clouds, and in between, it sends down the thinniest rain seemingly blue; I'm blessed to taste it as it runs down the mounds, below the hazy town seems empty almost vanishing fron view. The further I go down, the closer I see the unrhythmic streets: people walk as ghosts wearing broody faces as they hold umbrellas made for giants; there's the highway that'll take me home, where snow alters landscapes and sounds, but tasting the warmest rain compliments me for the lack of cheers. Several thirty-story skyscrapers will block the sun from shining free, this southern town, hidden among mountains, has known poverty; the unemployed and young want jobs despite change and monotony; they, too will taste the warmest rain and will dream of an age of prosperity.