Maybe it’s in the way they softly slip
Like teardrops spawned by tender memory
Or perhaps it’s in the trembling as they drip
In half-beats from the weeping willow-tree
The winding brook laughs as it drinks the lay
Splashing through meadowland in turquoise-blue
The puddles on the lane all dappled gray
With eighth notes somehow makes me think of you
Tip-tapping notes against the window pane
Form rivers where a thousand memories roll
There’s something ‘bout the music of the rain
That probes a longing sealed deep in my soul
Unwritten melodies in unknown tongue
Murmur the perfect blend of peace and pain
A ballad softly rushing silver-strung
Makes me wish I could see you once again
© Janet Martin~
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I hope you enjoyed your pause on this porch and thank-you for your visit!