Rain Over Me. . .

Loved you like the sun in winter,
cared just as the summer breeze.
You gave me back rain and thunder,
and then let go what’s left of me.

Busy and tired I worked as a bee,
Gave you back sweetness and serenity.
You flooded my efforts,
my flowers, my valley,
and washed away what I had for thee.

You roared, you rumbled,
boomed then thundered,
you poured over me your agony.
I was left feeling feckless,
drowning in my own misery.

But, my love
my only reason to live and breathe.

For my little thirst of subsistence,
I willingly implore you,
to come rain over me. . .




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