Foolish woman, trying to drown her distress,
She ambles down rainy streets alone;
Weary, she grapples with her loneliness,
Poor thing! she'll return drenched to the bone

There are feelings she finds hard to define ----
Walking in the rain helps clear her view;
Soon the proper words and cadence align,
And with verse she'll share her pain with you

Poems are a priceless commodity
That allow sorrow to be dispersed;
And you, loyal patron of her artistry,
Will read words in which you're well rehearsed

Once again, her tears will run down your face,
With closed eyes you will clearly review
All the memories her mind can't erase,
All because her poem spoke to you