The Rain

November 30, 2007
Trickled down her face,
Like dew drops on a flower,
She loves to love,
Never had too much of it,
Men do adore her.

She moves like a siren,
As dark as the night,
Her hair like a veil,
Exquisite,unperturbed as marble,
She waits for it to come.

Then it breaks and her wait is over,
She runs, abounds, spirits befall her,
But she is happy,
Dancing in the wind,
The rain has come again.

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