Tuesday, May 31, 2005

Drops of rain

Recovered from the mist that clouded my eyes
and burnt the blanket which shrouded my lies.

The embers of yesterday, neither sting nor burn
the rain on my open palms whispers, "it's your turn".

The falcon's call from its abode in the skies,
gives me the gift of patience as I toss the dice.

The embers of yesterday, neither sting nor burn,
the rain on my open palms whispers, "its your turn".

A storm brews far ahead, asking me to bend and bow,
I say, "great Oaks may fall, but rushes still grow".

The embers of yesterday, neither sting nor burn,
the rain on my open palms whispers, "its your turn".

The sky clears, storm disappears, tomorrow comes today
I'm still standing, strong heart, temples a touch of gray.

The embers of yesterday, neither sting nor burn,
the rain on my open palms whispers, "its your turn".

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