Overture

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Raindrips drop downward,
petal-soft as kisses,
or teardrops.
Not sorrow, but tears of joy.
Rainbeats,
drumbeats,
heartbeats,
accelerando, molto allegretto,
a sonata of the soul.
Now raindrop mordents,
biting (ma non troppo),
let us revel in the sting,
and liquid eyes implore
for piu mosso.
We surrender to crescendo,
as water runs down our faces—
not sorrow, but tears of joy.





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