When it gently rains,
We do not hear the winging of butterflies,
Nor the wafting, iridescent wings of fairies nor
The slow crawl of the wooly caterpillar
Through the sheeny fallen leaves.
When it pours buckets,
We do not hear the sloshing of galoshes,
Nor the thumping of a rabbit’s foot nor
The heavy breathing of lovers
Between sheeny satin sheets
I miss those sounds.
The rains wash away their memories
And leave only puddles for me splash in