On the day I die
there will be rain.
Evidence on the leaf
dew perhaps is grief, or its stain.
On the day I die there will be
rain.
And...
All around,
puddles covering the ground.
The earth shall be one glorious thicket of mud.
Scattered, my ashes, no longer solid enough
to judge.
The world, hushed, asleep.
All animals, calm and quiet, no peep.
On the day I die
there will be
rain.
The wind will build and sigh.
On this day all birds soar high,
flying on,
as I, too, move on,
like skipping notes to a sweet, forgotten
song.
On the day I die,
there will be rain.
Copyright November 18, 2013
All Rights Reserved By Author
Melissa A Howells/Meloo Tilt-a-World