The rain sings her adieu;
her surreal scent, her every smile
her very essence drowned by heaven's
teardrops, while her memories remain:
boxed in mylar.
>
The rain sings her adieu.
But how can one not forget her?
How her kisses lingers longer than
St. Elmo's fire, and the feel of
her touch refreshes every second, and
renews every hour.
>
The rain sings her adieu.
Lightning growls and thunder flashes;
and every teardrop vainly tried,
to ease the pain of losing her.
Vainly too the hours, trying every second
to return back to the very moment where
time has finally called her to his bossom;
failing vainly to appease him with their
pleas.
>
The rain sings her adieu.
But what is love without her?
To cherish every moment without her,
to live in bliss sans her, and looking
forward not having her?
Oh what purpose is existing when she's but
in another realm.
>
The rain sings her adieu.
And beyond the horizon appears,
The colourful band of a promise-
despite her absence, her memories will
but forever be etched in through the hearts of those
who truly love her.