A violent torrent of raindrops
angrily pelts the pane of the window,
the crudely chopped wood sizzles in the fire,
and the solemn palpitations of the heart
welcome the fervent ghost.

Potent memories compose the ghost—
the shadow of what could have been. Within the heart
rages an insatiable fire;
burning a whole, forming a window,
making visible the bitterly translucent raindrops.

This miserable heart
has a grossly revealing window,
a chasm, which makes giddy the eager ghost
as it stokes the ravaging fire
without regards to the raindrops.

There is a crack in the window
and it is breaking the heart.
The spiteful nature of the fire
changes course, squandering the ghost,
to drown it with vengeful raindrops.

Sun shines—to cease the raindrops,
to mend the shattered window
of the lethargic heart.
Memories, like the smoldering fire,
are now nothing more than a ghost.

No more does the sound of raindrops
echo against the hollow window.
Sick of shadows, the ghost
vanishes within the malicious embrace of the fire,
leaving behind the pieces of a grieving heart.

The lingering ghost of the raindrops
no longer sparks fire within the heart,
but leaves a beautifully open window.