The rainy Pleiads wester,
Orion plunges prone,
The stroke of midnight ceases
And I lie down alone.

The rainy Pleiads wester,
And seek beyond the sea
The head that I shall dream of
That will not dream of me.

Glance behind the heavy oak door
Smell the air, thick with dust
Quiet your voice, below a whisper
Creep silently up to the ceiling high shelves
Reach up on tiptoes, up above your head
Pull down a leather bound book,
Stroke the old binding
Leaf through the pages, inhaling the musty smell
Leave a mite bit happier, book in hand
The Library

It started as a puddle
lying in the road
So happy, I didn't notice it
When I was walking home.

It grew into a stream
Trickling down the street
Ruining my favorite shoes
As the water hit my feet

It grew into a pool
And destruction was created
I could still make it back home
But my smile had faded

It grew into a river
Its current caught my foot
I tried to swim against it
I tried as hard as I could

It grew into a lake
But I had begun not to care
No point in continuing to swim;
it wasn't getting me anywhere

It grew into an ocean
Full of chaos and madness
I never made it home
Because I had drowned in my own sadness.