I waited for the rain,
I built a tent
And everything
I sat by the window each day,
All I saw was, an old tree,
Wilted, slightly in pain
I could almost smell the water,
As it would caress the dry land,
I could feel the drops of rain,
On my small stretched out hand
I could hear the rustle of the wind
In the wilted tree, even
I could hear my heart beat,
In anticipation
The thirst, that can’t be quenched,
The waiting that won’t cease
The rain that refuses to come down,
The rain that refuses to drench me.
