I always write my poetry
on grey rainy days.
when the paper catches
the ink from my quill
like teardrops.
And even the clouds weep.

I remember when we first met as children,
we would splash in the puddles
with lime green rubber boots.
I knew even then I would marry her.

Our hearts sang together in the rain.
I have lost her.
she is now beyond the clouds
that bring the sweet rain.

Now a lifetime later
Even when the sickness came
and her last day called to her.
She asked me is it raining my love.
I said quietly yes my angel its raining.

Take me outside
I want to feel the rain
for one last time.
I carried her to the garden
and the pure misty rain
drenched our clothes

Dance me in the rain
she whispered’
I held her like a baby
and carried her in a dance
the rain pattering its gentle rhythm.

Now even after forever.
When it rains
I sit on my covered porch
and read my poems to her.

And I know in a far away
place that knows no pain or darkness
her fingers are pressed against a window pane.
Outside the scene is olive green
and soft gentle rain falls forever.
and my poems are playing in her heart.