Rain

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  The lilies became just a little whiter
The roses a tad bit more red,
The lovers came closer than ever;
Or so the romance novel said.

The croaking of toads was,
In rhythm with pitter-patter.
Amongst the sun and the rain,
The poet chose the latter.

He was lulled to a slumber
By steady thrumming of rain against windows;
He soared into the land of dreams,
Far, far away from his daily woes;

A land of fulfillment
Where dreams came to life.
Where words were used to love and share
Instead of creating hurt and strife.

Hearing a resounding squeal,
He was roused from his sleep.
What he saw outside the window
Made his heart painfully leap.

He was struck with nostalgia
Seeing the little girls in a huddle,
Setting their paper boats to sail;
Waiting excitedly by the puddle.

He distinctly remembered
Playing in the rains,
With his trousers folded to the knee,
To save them from impending stains.

Being inside closed doors,
He had forgotten to live.
His pen and paper his only joy;
When happiness had become elusive.

His pen gave him hope,
And so did the rain;
He walked out the door
To let the water wash away his pain.

As the wind grew stronger
He could sense the incoming storm;
The cold somehow calmed him,
More than the warm.

Monsoon made him hopeful
Like the spring never did.
As the rain brought out the true green
That the dust on the leaves hid.

Just as he was walking,
He saw a girl clad in red.
Soaking wet from the rain,
But looking happy instead.

He looked at her; she looked at him.
Eyes spoke words unsaid;
He fell in love and so did she,
Or so the romance novel said.

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