The Wind and The Rain.

yes, the rain will always be loved

my umbrella is tiny

a bit of a joke

more of a gift…

and SHE, they say, ventures out

only when the first drops have fallen,

only when there is a promise of a polka-dot stroll

well the wind speaks too,

in trees usually shy,

wind comes and huffs-up their skirts

so they lose their regal demeanour

and momentarily bellow

like bustling taffeta

and on dark,

necessarily lonely nights

when only nothing

seems to lie beyond the panes

the two will come together

like a mother and father who are still in love,

walking night gardens

barefoot over thistles

ignoring all fences,

the wind

and the rain

come joined in the dark

as one

Paul O’Kane, 2002