Some of us lived in a home that wasn't sweet, this poem is not to bring sad memories but look at the present and see how long ahead of that pathetic time we have traveled.

I was a little boy looking trough
the glass window of my room
as the rain washed the street
wishing I had a friend.
The room was kind of cold
like reflecting the outside storm,
the absence of the sun
painting all with the shade of grays.

Wet fingers tapered on the glass
leaving behind traveling drops,
bringing from an angel a message
so the rain will have something to say.
On the window’s sill, a one eye bear
With sad expectancy looking up,
and in a corner flying to nowhere
With a broken wing was a little airplane.

Trying to tap-dance with the rain
somewhere was a grandfather’s clock,
disturbing frustrated prayer with
“try again”…”try again”…”try again”
The wind stopped and so did the rain,
leaving a shinning wet and empty world,
to a solitary little boy by the window
that wished…he had a friend.