The Mournful Rain
Rain mist-filled dreams
fall quiet on the flowers’ eyes,
broken before the soft
morning calls.
A dropping mist over the chestnuts;
the earth converses in waves
as tears caress with abandon.
Yet, when we see the storm
behind waves of sorrow,
we find the beauty of life
at the pointer biting flame.
So as skies weep over woods,
how do we cherish memory yet
nature regains
a cycle of love mirrored?
- Gabriela Mistral