and your each 'dropp' of my rain.
and i am tired and i am thirsty and it rains.
and we are as we now are, it is fine love and art.
and i know that it is bitter, sour even tart.
and as my fever climbs, you help it too rest.
and as it drips there slowly, slowly down.
and as you do your very best.
and each yellow sun so high it bursts.
and still it rains.
and each dropp it drips i see on me.
and comes more rain, as it pours on me.
and as you hunch there over too cover me.
and you keep me warm, as you dry my lips.
and as the rain too cool it runs the full length.
and down the small of your curved back.
and through that small and rustic crack.
and above me each moon, i'm looking at.
and i am tired and i am thirsty and it rains.
and each dropp of rain seems bitter and sour it is tart.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem