She sits on the air, and talks with the breeze. She walks with that style, and mocks me as I freeze. I swear she stopped a rain storm, And you could swear she just said no. She's a mountain of power, and an engine of burning coal. Those eyes sharp as glass, and slicker than some ice. I swore to her I'd stop, but I kept it going on thrice. I never knew she felt, I didn't think she could. But I saw her there, weeping, and tugging, and pulling out her hair. I knew then I was nothing, nothing to her, but pain, taking away the joy, of her. My Beloved rain.
(This is actually something I wrote trying to see through the perspective of a boy)