Memoirs Of A Nightingale (P.31) Poem by Phoebe Lichten

It was late in the evening
As I worked in a fevered rushing way
Flowing in sync with the rain
The clapping storm that filled the day

I could not focus with thoughts of him
Sitting so close beside the hallway
The sounding thunder struck as I imagined
His warmth, his touch, immobilizing me as always

Thinking of my love, how my body ached
With strong desire, with such sweet pain
Wanting him near to my heart, so much
On that day filled with the sweet smell of rain