Morning Rain

On the darkened pane
A slide off my memories
Of lonely yesteryears
I remember
Love died
Trust and faith

The will to live melted
Like frost on a summer day
Living not wanting to know
to feel to see to speak
Tranquil alone
Unfeeling

Living was merely breathing
Then Words like little raindrops
Fell one by one on a dead soul
The lifeless seed quivered
growth of hope on blackened
bulb, stubs of faith appeared

“It is raining this morning, My Angel!”
“That’s good, My Love, Rain cools…”