A raindropp trickles down the pane
The way my finger once traced down your back
Gliding without a care
Aimlessly.
I flick between the opaqueness of the teeming glass
And the clarity of my pouring memory
And see your skin, a naked section
A warm feeling on a cold day
Lifted for a instant, then set down again
A sad moment on a gloomy Sunday.
The beauty of nature before me
Seemingly seen only in reflection
Though whenever I care to look now
I can see.
And though the reflections before me will dry
My recollections will come again like the rains.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem