Rain is inevitable. Down and bound to arrive, sourced from a cloudless sky
Chances are the forecast - is mistaken.
Death is inevitable. Down and bound to arrive. After one last cloudless breath taken, no more.
chances are... I forecast that I would not be here if not for you, breathing in my ear, holding the umbrella over my bowed head as you get wet from a cloudless sky... what a guy ;) 'chances are' is a poem written by Nat Lipstadt... if you don't know him yet, get to know him better here: http://hellopoetry.com/nat-lipstadt/ send him just a little part of you, your scraps, your off cuts and he can turn it into gourmet stew, and you'll think you are eating at a 5 star restaurant... but most of all, he took a part of me that is my heart, I'm grateful he's looking after it...