What is this life but a dream?
Walking wearily to an indeterminable point,
what waits there I know too well,
an old friend ready to make my acquaintance once more.

Tread softly into that warm darkness.

I am made of rain,
and slowly my physical form drops away
l
ikeal
onelyrain
drop

d

r




i


p





p







i





­
n








g



away and all that remains is puddle that shimmers prettily in a certain kind of light