The raindrops come to feel your cheek,
like the autumn dawn feels the trees.
He whispers to the deceased he sees,
words mangled to his critique.
To his eyes you begin to sneak,
consciousness, oh so bleak. You see
the raindrops come to feel your cheek,
like the autumn dawn feels the trees.
Each syllable to caress your cheek,
he whispers now, for you he sees;
to his back, the autumn breeze.
The raindrops come to seem unique;
the raindrops come to feel your cheek.
DannYetman
http://yetmanpoetry.blogspot.com/
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