Miss Rain Poem by Megan Frame

Falling apart at the seams,
Trying to mend broken dreams.
I tell myself someday, somehow,
It will be better, better than now.

But now I seem to find,
That slowly, slowly, I'm loosing my mind.
I'm holding on to little things,
Like the songs that Miss Rain sings.

But that's not enough to get by on,
It's not as good as a shoulder to cry on.
I'm holding on to things that come soon,
At the end of day, waiting for the moon.

Or simply a chance to get out of the house,
Anything at all, like the rain that will douse
Me in her sweet smell and song,
Hoping she asks me to come along.

But though I stay, all while she's here,
She leaves me alone, with nobody near.
I'm not invited to come with her,
I won't see the adventures she will stir.

I hear of them in the thunderous crash,
And see them on her face, with lightning's flash.
But never, no never can I come along,
I can only listen to her joyful song,

Then she whispers, Please hold on,
Just for the time that I'm gone,
For I wish I might see you again,
I ask once more for an answer to when?

But no answer whispers back.
And I'm left in the cold dark black.
She's gone once more,
To seek a far shore.
One that I might never see,
For she may ne'er bring along me.