The rain has subdued.
Soon there will be cicadas blowing their noses
and frogs gurgling for another spell of heaven.
If you are awake a little longer you will
see that, it will rain again because such
honest voices are always answered
by the skies. Yet we will go on sleeping,
ignoring those nightly calls of
lovers.
So as the years rolled by,
we did become poets but we could
never become the skies that could
rain.
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