the rain can't wash the tears away
they hide behind a wall
where sorrow lurks on stormy days
as wicked torrents fall
I fool myself to think I'm safe
for rainy days bring grief
in memories from the raging sky
no shelter grants relief
the past seeps in from misty clouds
and there is no defense
it creeps in shadows down the hall
although I make pretense
perhaps a book might comfort me
and lift me from myself
I light the lamp and quietly stray
to see what's on the shelf
and then a clash of lightning strikes
and then the thunder roars
I find a book and take my chair
so glad to be in doors
then sorrow and the hours fade
until the storm has passed
but since rain comes another day
my store of books is vast
A beautiful, sad poem, Barry, very nicely written. Some books make one even sadder, though, not so? Perfect picture. Laurie
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Wonderful poem Barry Col Muhammad Khalid Khan
Thank you Colonel, glad you enjoyed it.