Pulsating rain, cascading in torrents
wrapping a somber, bleak cloak about her,
reeling in loneliness, arms empty,
she has earned our sincere empathy.
There’s one more body lying in the street,
one less soul to stand on his feet.
Judgmental rain, pounding punishment out
as if it has the right to claim lives.
Death stands ready at her beck and call--
to eventually visit us all.
Regardless of season, it’s prime time . . .
he will come, softly whisper, “You’re mine.”
Even when the rain freezes, turns icy,
fingers of rain, nimble, shear e'ry bone
for she’s mastered her powers, they’re honed.
Now there’s one less soul upon this earth
though in a moment, they’ll be a birth.
Pulsating rain, quickens, revives us.