Of Rain
In aviatrix guise old lady grey presents her skies and leaves her gown to fall,
to press us one and all to hide and turn within our shielded eyes,
as up against the pane she drives.
A wasted gift on all us fools.
Anfractuous fragments.
Many jewels.
A turning page of change whose lines hide future vantage there to find.
But most all blind in cloisters dry, we let these glitter worlds slip by.
