She wasn’t like the touch of rain
That gently falls upon the skin
That makes one happy and makes one grin
She instead was like the touch of pain.
I walk alone and I felt an ache
As though upon me there was a curse
I felt sick and then I began to feel worse
Then I knew she was poisonous like a snake.
She had poisoned me with a hate and a lie
That came from her as honesty and truth
It tasted like a sweet flavored vermouth
Now she sits and waits for me to die.
I was tricked by my senses and what to believe
Now the penalty of that crime is my death
The Lord's Prayer I will say in my last breath
The rain it came and then she did deceive.
Randy L. McClave
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem