There’s something wrong With the rain tonight, Not quite right And unattended – Desolate little drops, A plenty and falling, Or leaping, As suicide’s now stained – The houses, the trees, The tollbooths, the tires And doldrums my feet now reside. In angst over wet, these lesser and Imagined crimson, I encounter a wind, Quite possibly a whisper, But a chill to remind bone – That we all end someday And we’ll all be ended Someday As well.