Sense Of Guilty

Strange, I saw thee standing in the pouring rain,
So quiet as the rain mingle with thy tears;
Untouch by breezing cold that veil in pain,
No expression yet eloquent, indeed without fears.

The cold and rain moistening thy flesh in vain,
And recounts thy amorous tale that wrung;
Solely tasks for thee as human not saint,
Indeed, bliss is thy replies as heaven sprung.

Even though the rain stop, thou standing still,
As if thy soul vanished while thy flesh remain empty;
A follies mark of imprudent freewill,
Placed thee next to me in sense of guilty.

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