Pitter-Patter
I have always found serenity in her She pats me on the shoulder Where my umbrella falls short I turn to face her And let if fall Though the sun cracks a glare Thick clouds beat around their spiteAs she continues to reach out Saddling each passerby with more of her sorrow As they scurry to get out from under her- They seek shelter away from discomfort But I like her She cries in my stead And sometimes the weight of her grief aligns with mine In times like those My lips adjust to the temprament of hers Finding a pace in the fustration of loss She swallowed my sadness whole