Rain
Dedicated to George Crile
By Tatiana Pahlen

It rained and rained twelve nights and days
The old mischief must have damned the faucets,
The sky turned gray to my dismay
I smelled strong spice and acids
Charged the stifling air.
Our long awaited trip to the Bay
Has been delayed. And once again
I hear you're saying out of vain
Some cheerful forms of nonsense,
Akin to stop the falling rain
With nothing else but magic.
But how, in fact, I'll trust your words,
If I believe in logic?
There is no sign of flying birds
The dogs decline to be let out,
No passing vessels, sailing boats,
More wrecked umbrellas lost or tossed,
And draining fleet of unfinished notes
I am battling about,
While longing for your magic smile.

August 1, 2003

© 2003 Tatianyc. All Rights Reserved.