Song of the Rain
and the yellow pleasure of candle-light....
old brown books and the kind, fine face of the clock
fogged in the veils of the fire - it's cuddling tock.
greening her eyes on the flame-litten mat;
wickedly, wakeful she yawns at the rain
bending the roses over the pane,
and a bird in my heart begins to sing
over and over the same sweet thing--
Safe in the house with my boyhood's love
and our children asleep in the attic above.
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Comments about this poem (Song of the Rain by Hugh McCrae )
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