Be thankful for the rain ,
for when it came parched lands were quenched amugst humid skies ,
as darker clouds gathered at four in the afternoon .
The letter I meant to send you lies unopened on my table .

There was no post today ,
no stamp as the post office was closed ,
no rail road to sent by train to sort out ,
No pigeon post as my bird had died that morning in its cage ,
Or telegraph man with heavy burden of death to knock on your door .
My WiFi off line
E mails down ,
My paper plane would not take to flight ,
If I could have walked to your house and mailed it by candel light ,
Or sent a sonet ,
Or a chorister of chamber singers at dusk .
By quil and ink I would have written
‘ I love you ‘

(/Woman )”:;O charm me sir so that I might never sleep ,
with you’re words so beautiful and sweet .
bewitch me with you’re poetic words
However daft or obserd.
And love me thou my pale is dry,
that you might fill it Untill I over flow with joy .
That i if I were to awaken you’re love ,
In the pure essence of a flying dove .



Then spindle or twine
Let Love then.  Spin the final twine.

And upon that Twine a needle be thread ,
stitched in red into  the garments of my bed .”

Man ) “But alas I cannot spin or thread or weave ,
for all. You’re practices are to deceive .
And to capture thine ,
for that Would be a waste of time .”

Woman);”Then read me that book you were writing just now
In soft white sheets I will listen some how ,
whilst the candel still burns bright .
For I will weave a spell that will fill you with
all the desires of hell .”

Man )“ But that will cause my words to arouse ,
and the wind and rain will begin  to howl .”

Woman )”Then let hell awake for I shall lie on this bed
Untill you’re softly spoken words have been said “

Man ) “Then be gone with you
my candel blows
and when the wick is out ,
Then Satan himself will be cast out .”