Of Tears and Brolly
Of Tears And Brolly
Funny how sad
raindrops feel,
Weather as mad
as a glockenspiel,
Tinkling on our skin
like an overture
To the sopping grin
of a cloud, demure.
Laugh, my darling,
'tis but a storm,
Sparking and snarling
far from the norm,
'tis love and madness
in secret huddles,
Weeping their sadness
into comical puddles.
Strange, how smiley
drowning feels,
Yet we do it wryly
in whimpering squeals,
To love and to lose
in a familiar sky,
Like those dull grey hues
in the corner of your eye.
Come, my lover,
'tis but a whim,
Of mackintosh cover,
and tilted brim,
'tis the helter-skelter
of a fickle heart
That oft seeks shelter
as lovers part.
'Tis the pitter patter
of tears and brolly,
The showery scatter
of melancholy,
Yet we dare not speak
nor tempt goodbyes,
As I wet your cheek
and you dry my eyes.
Sleep, my dear,
'tis time for dreams,
To disappear
with the rain it seems,
'Tis a sky of blue,
'tis yours,'tis mine,
Because we always knew
that the sun would shine.
©RJVHorton2017
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