The rains that once brought her the warmth of his gentle embrace,
Those rains have returned,
But now there is no more reassuring warmth
nor is there the scent of love,
His freshly splashed aftershave no longer mingles with the raindrops on her cheeks.

Under this lush greenwood avenue would she and he caress and talk,
Their shy miles spoke sweeter than words,
They had no need for long nightly chats,
Their love ran deeper and smoother than the reservoir
Where they used to sit in the days before the rains came.

In the field where he once played under the shade of the old oak tree,
Now there is only a burnt out stump,
Lightening struck there once and tore out the heart of the oak,
Softly falls the rain, deep it runs into the roots and veins,
Her sinking subconscious swims through the fragrance of the falling rain.

On the evening air there is a sigh of another dying day,
The pathway ahead of her shimmers with the wet memory pools of another dead day,
Somewhere along this now lonely road she lost something rare,
After the fall of love she found a way to live under the cold cloak of life,
Without him there by her side under the umbrella there is no reflection of joy.

Behind her, shadows of the past call after her, begging her to turn back,
Ahead of her, the path grows a little lighter,
Above her, the trees and clouds shift apart to shower light and hope,
Around her, the leaves glow green and red and yellow gold,
There was a storm once, and after the rains, came the silence of solitude.