When it rains it means books to me
spending the afternoon with Frost, Dickinson,
Rumi and Gibran, whispers of your love for me
floating in the air. I can count the rain drops
falling, singing their softness, or the fury,
when it pours, thinking of blankets and hot cups
of tea soothing, filling us
with the wonder of closeness
drawing us to what is important,
perhaps it is, “The Road Less Traveled”
but it is so beautiful when I look at your face
on a pillow, as we listen
to the meaning of the rain.
Poetry and Image © Copyright 2015, ancient skies
Peace and blessings to everyone.
“When we love people, we give them hope.”