i watch the raindrops
fill up the puddles
puddles where the birds bathe
to them, the world is still turning
turning, with no intention to stop

caged like a bug under a rock
feeling like we’re living by a broken clock
in these quiet times I think of you
writing little rhymes, like you used to do

your spirit lives in the whistle of the birds
your memory clings onto the petal of a flower
remembering you as i am greeted by the april shower