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Feel The Girl

[Intro Timbaland (Ms. Jaded)]
Ladies and gentlemen
Ladies and gentlemen
(Ms. Jade) Lay lay lay ladies and gentlemen
(Ms. Jade) Ladies and gentlemen
(Ms. Jade) Ladies and gentlemen
(Ms. Jade) Lay ladies and gentlemen
(Ms. Jade) Skrip skirt skrip lay lay
(Ms. Jade) La la la lay
Earr err err

[Verse 1 Ms. Jade]
Ms. Jade's the name comin' to ruin the game
Bringin' the thunder and rain

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Spring and Rain Dancing Together

Spring has sprung
As I hear the pitter patters of rain
And the aroma of my lovely roses

As I stand out side
The wet cold rain taps my head
Then I do the rain dance
To the powerful almighty rain

I stay out side
And pick a blossom
For I love spring
It is awesome

As the day comes to an end
I stay outside to send
A message that
“I love spring” Poem Writer,
By: Jackie Thielman

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Snow And Rain

I have watched
and felt
both snow and rain
shaken

from bough
of tree limbs,
desired to linger
longer to watch

'Silent and soft and slow'
the first snow fall
as a new mantle
'Descends the snow'.


I wonder
if Longfellow
faced the same
dilemma,

the onset
of encroaching dark
or a possible
turn in the weather,

may necessitate
but the glimpse
with long hours
of hard hiking left


before
the days
journey
is over.


Copyright © Terence George Craddock
Quoted lines from ‘Snowflakes’ by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

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Darkness and Rain

As i stand outside in the darkness and rain i try to keep the memories of us but they seem to fade away when you left no weathers been good all weathers been bad the best weather came when i was with you the best weather i ever had one kiss used to brighten my day 2 to keep the clouds away 3 kisses so i never felt blue but those kisses didnt matter as long as i had you darkness are now my days rain became part of the nights just take me away from all this darkness and bring me back to the light protect me and be my sun and be my shelter and save me from this bad weather.....forever some think im crazy some think im insane because i still wait for you outside in the darkness and rain

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Sun And Rain And Seed

The distance calls.
Hedges and dry stone walls
On hillsides, flocks of sheep.
Rough cliffs high, valleys deep.
One stretched out patchwork quilt,
Time formed, from rocks and silt.
Our planet’s richness shown,
Under the sky’s ozone.

The distance calls.
Even through heavy squalls,
The wind, the trees reshape,
Mists falling like a cape.
Weathered timber barns,
Mountains, vales and tarns.
All grace this pleasant earth,
Prized beauty of such worth.

The distance calls.
Swift rivers, waterfalls
All senses become sharp.
The salmon, trout and carp,
Swim silently and glide,
Not easily espied.
These lands are fertile still,
With stream, with brook, with rill.

The distance calls.
Hear cows in cattle stalls.
Across the loose blown hay,
Their bellows drift away,
Fields grassed, look rich and green,
The air is fresh and clean.
And nature’s cleansed anew.
Space for every hue,
For what more does one need,
Just sun and rain and seed.


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A Beautiful Fairy And The Fairy Dust Rain

Around this time of the year
The arrival of Spring is near
The arrival of Spring is almost here
And I'll happily be one with the spirits of nature
I'll completely embrace the magic of spring
As well as the wonder of nature
And the many other worldly pleasures

Around this time of the year
I await the fairy dust rain

Surrounded by trees and flowers
And many other things that are green
I await the arrival of the fairy dust rain
And many other sights of nature just waiting to be seen

A beautiful fairy flutters down from the sky
And lands down in front of me
She's almost as tall as me

We greet each other
And our hopes are the same
As we wait for the fairy dust rain

In the meantime
The beautiful fairy shows me her gifts of magic
And shares her knowledge with me as well

After periods of time have gone by
Fairy dust begins to rain down from the sky

The fairy dust rain has finally arrived
And we share the smiles and laughter

You ask me for a dance
And I don't hesitate to pass up this chance

We dance
Surrounded by flowers
Surrounded by trees
Surrounded by the fairy dust rain

After dancing
We look into each other's eyes
And then up to the skies
As the fairy dust rain continues to fall

Our eyes then return to each other
And we share a hug
You flutter your wings a little
Shaking off some of the fairy dust that's covered them

You tell me you're staying with me
At least for the time being right now

Little by little
We're being lightly covered in the fairy dust rain

Beautiful fairy
I must say that these moments we share
They're memorable and precious
You echo your feelings and sentiments to me as well
As the fairy dust rain continues to fill the air

Side by side
We stand together
Loving what's happening
But most importantly
We enjoy the sight of the fairy dust rain

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Between The Wind And Rain

'The storm is in the air,' she said, and held
Her soft palm to the breeze; and looking up,
Swift sunbeams brush'd the crystal of her eyes,
As swallows leave the skies to skim the brown,
Bright woodland lakes. 'The rain is in the air.
'O Prophet Wind, what hast thou told the rose,
'That suddenly she loosens her red heart,
'And sends long, perfum'd sighs about the place?
'O Prophet Wind, what hast thou told the Swift,
'That from the airy eave, she, shadow-grey,
'Smites the blue pond, and speeds her glancing wing
'Close to the daffodils? What hast thou told small bells,
'And tender buds, that--all unlike the rose--
'They draw green leaves close, close about their breasts
'And shrink to sudden slumber? The sycamores
'In ev'ry leaf are eloquent with thee;
'The poplars busy all their silver tongues
'With answ'ring thee, and the round chestnut stirs
'Vastly but softly, at thy prophecies.
'The vines grow dusky with a deeper green--
'And with their tendrils snatch thy passing harp,
'And keep it by brief seconds in their leaves.
'O Prophet Wind, thou tellest of the rain,
'While, jacinth blue, the broad sky folds calm palms,
'Unwitting of all storm, high o'er the land!
'The little grasses and the ruddy heath
'Know of the coming rain; but towards the sun
'The eagle lifts his eyes, and with his wings
'Beats on a sunlight that is never marr'd
'By cloud or mist, shrieks his fierce joy to air
'Ne'er stir'd by stormy pulse.'
'The eagle mine,' I said: 'O I would ride
'His wings like Ganymede, nor ever care
'To drop upon the stormy earth again,--
'But circle star-ward, narrowing my gyres,
'To some great planet of eternal peace.'.
'Nay,' said my wise, young love, 'the eagle falls
'Back to his cliff, swift as a thunder-bolt;
'For there his mate and naked eaglets dwell,
'And there he rends the dove, and joys in all
'The fierce delights of his tempestuous home.
'And tho' the stormy Earth throbs thro' her poles--
'With tempests rocks upon her circling path--
'And bleak, black clouds snatch at her purple hills--
'While mate and eaglets shriek upon the rock--
'The eagle leaves the hylas to its calm,
'Beats the wild storm apart that rings the earth,
'And seeks his eyrie on the wind-dash'd cliff.
'O Prophet Wind! close, close the storm and rain!'

Long sway'd the grasses like a rolling wave
Above an undertow--the mastiff cried;
Low swept the poplars, groaning in their hearts;
And iron-footed stood the gnarl'd oaks,
And brac'd their woody thews against the storm.
Lash'd from the pond, the iv'ry cygnets sought
The carven steps that plung'd into the pool;
The peacocks scream'd and dragg'd forgotten plumes.
On the sheer turf--all shadows subtly died,
In one large shadow sweeping o'er the land;
Bright windows in the ivy blush'd no more;
The ripe, red walls grew pale--the tall vane dim;
Like a swift off'ring to an angry God,
O'erweighted vines shook plum and apricot,
From trembling trellis, and the rose trees pour'd
A red libation of sweet, ripen'd leaves,
On the trim walks. To the high dove-cote set
A stream of silver wings and violet breasts,
The hawk-like storm swooping on their track.
'Go,' said my love, 'the storm would whirl me off
'As thistle-down. I'll shelter here--but you--
'You love no storms!' 'Where thou art,' I said,
'Is all the calm I know--wert thou enthron'd
'On the pivot of the winds--or in the maelstrom,
'Thou holdest in thy hand my palm of peace;
'And, like the eagle, I would break the belts
'Of shouting tempests to return to thee,
'Were I above the storm on broad wings.
'Yet no she-eagle thou! a small, white, lily girl
'I clasp and lift and carry from the rain,
'Across the windy lawn.'
With this I wove
Her floating lace about her floating hair,
And crush'd her snowy raiment to my breast,
And while she thought of frowns, but smil'd instead,
And wrote her heart in crimson on her cheeks,
I bounded with her up the breezy slopes,
The storm about us with such airy din,
As of a thousand bugles, that my heart
Took courage in the clamor, and I laid
My lips upon the flow'r of her pink ear,
And said: 'I love thee; give me love again!'
And here she pal'd, love has its dread, and then
She clasp'd its joy and redden'd in its light,
Till all the daffodils I trod were pale
Beside the small flow'r red upon my breast.
And ere the dial on the slope was pass'd,
Between the last loud bugle of the Wind
And the first silver coinage of the Rain,
Upon my flying hair, there came her kiss,
Gentle and pure upon my face--and thus
Were we betroth'd between the Wind and Rain.

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The Bride of the Wind and Rain

There was morning dew, and the sky was blue
When the stranger came to town,
Riding a painted wagon, pulled
By horses, black and brown,
He carried a wand of hickory,
Was clad in a purple cloak,
'The Master of Elementals'
Said the sign - 'of the Gypsy Folk.'

The people gathered to hear him speak
When he stopped in the village square,
'I hold the secrets of wind and rain,
Of summer clouds up there.
The gentle rain for your barley crop,
The breeze that flutters the leaves,
Or the menace of darkening thunderheads
As the lightning strikes at your eaves.'

The people laughed: 'He's a crazy loon, '
They said: 'We think you're a clown! '
They rocked his wagon and jeered at him
But the stranger stood his ground.
'You jeer at eternal mysteries,
And you fail to understand,
But I have the power to raze your crops
With a twitch of my willow wand.'

They turned his wagon upside-down
And laughed, and danced and sang,
'There's not been much to cheer us here
Since we ducked old Widow Strang.
Her spells could never save her
And your wand can do its worst,
So show us your 'Elementals'...'
Then he said - 'Your town is cursed! '

He raised the willow wand on high
And muttered seven words
That didn't make much sense to them,
(In a tongue they'd never heard) .
The rain fell out of a cloudless sky
Like a fine and gentle mist,
A gentle, soaking, water spray,
Then he said - 'Shall I persist? '

There'd been a drought, the people laughed,
And danced about in glee,
'We need the rain, you're a sad buffoon
With your vain idolatry.
So do your worst with your willow wand
Our crops will prosper now...'
'Your crops will nourish the barren ground, '
He said, 'I'll show you how! '

A wind arose in the barley fields,
The rain came pouring down,
The corn, it swayed in the gusts, the trees
Were bent toward the ground,
The sky was blackened with thunderheads,
The rain, it turned to hail,
The crowd began to scatter, and fled
As the women began to wail.

The thunderheads were dark and dense,
They turned the light to gloom,
The hailstones rattled on every roof
In the dark of the afternoon,
Then lightning flashed, lit up the sky
As the stranger paced the town,
His scowl so unforgiving and grim as
The lightning struck the ground.

A wedding party had sheltered in
The chancel of the church,
They dared not hold the service since
The thunder cloud had burst.
The noise drowned out the vicar's voice,
The organ pipes had wailed,
Playing the devil's music to
The rattling of the hail.

The stranger strode on up the aisle,
The people stared him down,
He waved his wand, the floor had split
As an earthquake shook the ground,
'How much to stop this craziness? '
A man stood up and said,
'You've made your point, take what you want! '
The stranger shook his head.

'Not all of your gold will buy me off,
You jeered and laughed at me,
Your town will sink in the primal mud
And be lost in antiquity,
But there is one thing I'd take right now
To save my wounded pride,
I would take just one of your number here...'
Then he pointed to the bride.

The bride had cowered behind the groom
As lightning hit the spire,
The roofing lead came crashing down
On the altar, and the choir,
A floodtide surged in the open door
And the wedding party cried:
'For God's sake, give him the woman then,
Give him the blushing bride! '

The groom was pushed aside and held,
The bride passed hand to hand,
'It's better we let you take her
If it will save our troubled land! '
'I'll only be taking her maidenhead,
Then you can have her back,
And live with the scorn and shame of her
Dishonoured, like you, in fact! '

He took the bride through the chancel door
And they disappeared in the rain,
Somebody said they heard her scream
And the bridegroom reeled in pain,
He swore revenge on the lot of them,
Ran cursing out of the church,
To look for his bride, defiled, he said,
He began his demented search.

There was morning dew, and the sky was blue
When she marched back into town,
Her dress was ragged and torn by then,
Blood-stained, and she wore a frown.
She carried a long white willow wand
As she marched to the village square,
And screamed; 'You'd better come out and pray! '
There was no forgiveness there!

The townsfolk hid in their flooded homes
As she wandered every lane,
There was never a sight of the stranger there
In the torrents of hail and rain,
She waved for the thunderheads to come
And she brought the lightning down,
But the groom was locked in a crazy room
In a distant part of town.

Now the ruined bride still walks the streets
In a torn and faded dress,
More like the rags of the hand-me-downs
Than a hint of future bliss,
The crops have drowned in the sodden fields
And the houses filled with mud,
As she screams like an elemental witch
For the loss of her virgin blood.

18 April 2010

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Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

The Revenge of Rain-in-the-Face

In that desolate land and lone,
Where the Big Horn and Yellowstone
Roar down their mountain path,
By their fires the Sioux Chiefs
Muttered their woes and griefs
And the menace of their wrath.

"Revenge!" cried Rain-in-the-Face,
"Revenue upon all the race
Of the White Chief with yellow hair!"
And the mountains dark and high
From their crags re-echoed the cry
Of his anger and despair.

In the meadow, spreading wide
By woodland and riverside
The Indian village stood;
All was silent as a dream,
Save the rushing a of the stream
And the blue-jay in the wood.

In his war paint and his beads,
Like a bison among the reeds,
In ambush the Sitting Bull
Lay with three thousand braves
Crouched in the clefts and caves,
Savage, unmerciful!

Into the fatal snare
The White Chief with yellow hair
And his three hundred men
Dashed headlong, sword in hand;
But of that gallant band
Not one returned again.

The sudden darkness of death
Overwhelmed them like the breath
And smoke of a furnace fire:
By the river's bank, and between
The rocks of the ravine,
They lay in their bloody attire.

But the foemen fled in the night,
And Rain-in-the-Face, in his flight
Uplifted high in air
As a ghastly trophy, bore
The brave heart, that beat no more,
Of the White Chief with yellow hair.

Whose was the right and the wrong?
Sing it, O funeral song,
With a voice that is full of tears,
And say that our broken faith
Wrought all this ruin and scathe,
In the Year of a Hundred Years.

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Patrick White

The Birth Of Rain

Drifting on a drab Sunday in Perth among the ashtrays and leftover sublimities of the church bells. My studio window above the rooftops a smear of willow and wet pine undulating gently in the stillness that followed the rain. Wolves on the easel, waiting to pay the rent. May of the fifth year into the twenty-first century, fifty-six, I sit in a blizzard of tobacco crumbs because I'm too poor to buy tailor-mades, coughing at the computer, wiping small drops of water like pygmy tears from the Cyclopean eye of the screen that glows with the same effulgence as the dirty sheet of the sky. The main migrations are over, but maybe these words are rosaries of late-returning birds. Two anthracite, boat-tailed grackles on a branch just beyond the grimy glass and a gust of sparrows chirrup like squeaky alternator-belts, manically elated in the wake of the storm that has just passed. My freedoms are more sober, my resurgencies probably less profound than the gray roses I give birth to here at my desk, waiting for one of these terminal urgencies of insight to sway me like a bell.

Maybe Louise later today with her Cola and cassettes, and her rough, voluptuous, laughing humanity scorning the random acids of the vulgar world that schools her, a muse who doesn't take requests, a generous longing that's been through a lot. So I sublimate the root-fires of my leafless batons into an auto-de-fe of white canes tired of trying to tap their way through a maze of sexual creeds, blind. The result? A novel and dozens of poems apples above the worms. And I keep her cats, Morgan and Rain, mother and kitten almost fully grown. There are no humans Louise loves more.

The kitten was born beside me on the couch at one-thirty in the morning while Louise was in the hospital and I read La Mettrie, d'Holbach, Diderot, d'Alembert, Voltaire, Rousseau and Helvetius, eighteenth century French les philosophes. Two days ago, remembering, she asked me to write a poem to celebrate the birth. And it's two hundred and fifteen years since the French revolution went into convulsions and mothered daggers out of its wounds, and we are neither free, nor equal, nor brothers, and the birth of Rain, by association, is only the smallest of iota subscripts below the voluminous pretext of that slaughter, hardly, if at all, a mote that matters; but in a way she was born while the peasants stormed the Bastille, and time sent corpses and ideas floating facedown on one of its more famous rivers of blood all the way to the embryonic comma of this tender, contrary event. And there was honour in being a witness when Morgan jumped up beside me

and lay her head upon my right arm as a pillow, the great red text
with ivory pages open to the public like the Vatican before me
as the soft, gray satchel of her body shuddered with the natal lightning
of a different storm, the quickening eruptions of a different riddle
than the one that dropped its answer like a blade
on the necks of the cropped carnations as I kept on reading, thinking
to run for a towel before deciding not to disturb her,
that a little blood on the couch wouldn't hurt anything
compared to the streams of gore that caked the pages of my book.

And there was a humility in the act of watching, and a trust,
as if a great secret were demanding something of her
she was willing to go through hell to give. And my heart
laboured with her like a sympathetic strawberry, convinced of a miracle,
and even the colder lizards of my mind were awed
by the conception of the material immortality achieved
by the platitudinous genius of replicating genomes,
and who among temples and havens and research labs
could hold a candle to that, and what have I written, or felt, or thought,
that even comes close? And there wasn't a manger,
but the whole of the vast, star trailing night
crowded in behind the adoration of the angel-winged lamps to observe
genesis in the portent of its light
as Morgan rose like a violent squall
and squatting let slip with a howl of wounded passage
a black, sleek pickle of life wrapped in pink ribbons
tied to the tongue-sized kite of a pink placenta
with nothing left to say
while the French Revolution lay open on the table,
crazed with vertical caesarians. Two minutes more
and the afterbirth was eaten, Rain, because she's rippled, blind
because her eyes were queered by the living room light,
groomed and heading for the tit the way
a baby turtle waddles out of its cosmic egg with the world on its back to the sea,
her three-toed paws not yet the heavy seals of tigers,
and stumped by the impasse of continental plates
between the cushions, her first obstruction, tried, but insurmountable, I
appointed myself a force of nature as good as any
and gave her a boost to the bottle, Morgan,
a cat that seldom purrs, purring like dough
at having the cleat of her nipple kneaded into milk.

Two and a half hours I walked and waited to see if she would live;
window to window, through doors and back again, two and a half hours
to ascertain if the uncertain droplet of her heart
that reflected the hidden glory of the living
pulsed to a martial strain or the beat of a funeral drum,
or better yet, fell like music from the eaves. Everything
was given, as black cherries are given
and fingertips and stars and saffron orchids under eel-skin leaves
and drunken voices in the street proclaiming imperious ecstasies
and names and gods and dragonflies
or the silence coiled in the throats of overgrown wells
like the psalms of sleeping serpents older than the rocks is given.

And what could I do as life divined the outcome, the wyrd
of a beginning innocent as whiskers, but live the history of everything
in the mystery of the moment and wait with the wind and the trees
as others had waited for me to pull the ore from the stone
and crown my own existence? And I thought of the children
of the French nobility, I thought of Lavoisier and Buffon
who loved animals and plants and oxygen,
and fifty thousand pikes forged for the Paris militia, and Goethe
who affirmed the auspicious aspects of the sixteenth Louis' reign,
and the train of death carts that creaked toward the guillotine
with their saloneries of elegant women shaved for death,
and of all those who had been bled for centuries by the lies
of the mitre, the robe, the sword and the crowns of luckier stars,
wasps who laid their eggs upon a living host constrained to entertain
their vicious myth of origins, and it seemed to me in passing
that this simple birth of a common kitten
in the smalltown hours of a bird-freaked morning on the verge of dawn
washed out the blood of millions in their indistinguishable graves
at the first sign of this feline gesture of primogenitive rain.

And born a Leo, flame in the tinder enough, equal to her claws, a gift,
she lived and suckled and slept in the bay of her cloudy mother
as I went off to bed, my nightwatch ended, more enhanced
by a single birthstain on the couch, her watermark,
than the thousand pages of bloodshed that drenched my weary head:
And I dreamed, a marvelous dream, a crazy blue dream
as if Bast, the Egyptian goddess of cats slept at my feet commingling
her visions with mine, images and symbols and the strange arcana
of things released from time and sequence and history
to dance freely with the dead who lived again emphatically
beyond the clamour of their chains and violated thresholds,
and it seemed to me their eyes, their incredible gold-flecked eyes
were slashed by black crescent moons that waxed and waned
like cups and flowers, like tides and the improvised hours of childhood
as if each were the pearl and the lens and the seeing
of a vast ocean of a living liquid light that fed
the umbilical rivers and womb-waters of all it called back from the night
like the words of a wounded song. And slowly as my mind
adjusted to the subtlety of the nurturing glow, I realized
this fathomless reservoir, deeper than any idea, wider
than any feeling, was the watershed of my own frail knowing,
the nacreous mother of all, older than beginnings, creatrix of all,
whole and unbounded in every atom, star, leaf, cell, skull, tear and firefly,
the fountain-mouth of form and time, nights and mornings,
everything the issue of the bell of her being, storms, bones, dreams,
suns and their planets, starfish and leopards, heroes and snails,
the thief in the window, and the burnt salts
of the excruciating murderers who cut out their own tongues
everytime they kill, spiders, fish, wheat and poppies,
and the blackholes that are the engines of other universes,
all the language and the lyric of her substance, the birth of time
in every heartbeat, chaos and cosmos in every pulse that shakes the void,
space, her skin, intelligence, her eyes,
and the wavelengths of her wild hair, the fragrance of ancient nights
that ripened like apricots, everywhere curled into galaxies,
and all, forever, without exception,
the auroral transformation of her vital radiance, and she,
without dimension, the broad canvas and inspiratrix of life.

And in an instant I saw the shadows of the generations,
billions of men, women, and children, maligned and celebrated alike,
the cursed and the blessed, the beautiful, the wise, the athletes
and the cripples, the criminals, the tyrants and the saints,
moving like the sloppy surf of autumn leaves through the darkness,
dry, used-up things, heavier than the sorrows of coal, tears of coal
and the torn pages of banished books
ushered by a wind that seemed the breathing of time itself
toward her lavish shores to drink from their own reflections
and be restored, not saved, because nothing can be lost,
like flowers to the luminous wines of life
that poured into their desiccated creekbeds like rain, like roots,
like trees and the dendritic boughs of space, like bloodstreams
in the hazardous course of tumultuous histories, each, like anyone,
like me, like you, like Louise, Morgan, Rain and Voltaire,
because the whole of the sky, the moon, the stars
are mirrored in every eye, shine in every eye like being itself,
and from every tear, every droplet at the tip of the stargrass,
from every berry of blood that stains its own seeing,
from the tiniest womb of water that falls into life through the night,
Egypt and the Nile, France, kittens, dreams, insight.

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In The Late Night Rain Falls Whispering

In the late night rain falls whispering,
blossoms on branches move in the wind
and I am aware of the smallest sound
as if in the darkness I can find something
and for moments the night becomes dear to me,
while I again feel innocent like a child
but still life outside stays dark.

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Edward Thomas

Like the Touch of Rain

Like the touch of rain she was
On a man's flesh and hair and eyes
When the joy of walking thus
Has taken him by surprise:

With the love of the storm he burns,
He sings, he laughs, well I know how,
But forgets when he returns
As I shall not forget her 'Go now'.

Those two words shut a door
Between me and the blessed rain
That was never shut before
And will not open again.

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When The Cape Winter Rain Comes

When the Cape winter rain comes and falls softly
mushrooms rise up everywhere,
everywhere in the plantations and the dale
with the mud flowing around like brown soup
while fog that draws close over the hilltop,
and suddenly a rainbow appears over the pine tops,
while guinea fowl wander around in a large group
but nowhere any thunder bolt resounds
and this world sparkles like a small universe.

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Return to Me My Lover

I rolled over into an uninhabited space in bed
No arms there to hold my head.
Seems like insomnia lay there, instead.
We lay there listening to the thunder clapping;
Rain on the windowpane tapping
Oh, give mercy to my longing soul!
I miss your heart beating next to mine,
Your lips to sip like wine.
Preoccupation turns into despair
Days and nights rise and disappear
Misery floods my heart.
Dearest, return to me when
Sun appears and disappears

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The Goddess Of Rain

A soothsayer once said in Greece,
In invincible morning light,
'There is someone who brings the wind,
Who turns the Day to Night'

Thought by everyone to be a great man,
He was believed by all,
But that Something he did not know,
Nearly brought his fall

The skies grew black, Heavens split,
The Earth shook with pain,
For she knew the Oracle had insulted
Her daughter The Goddess of Rain

Her daughter on the contrary,
Talked with him awhile,
Showered him with Forgiveness,
And blessed him with a Smile.

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Outside the first spring rain is falling

Outside the first spring rain is falling
while it is still piercing winter
and there are flowers already blossoming,
sparrows singing cheerfully in a group,

rejoicing already about the magic that spring brings
and in my heart there is love that wants to flower for you,
a feeling that pierces the separation
and around me new life is emerging

and speedy I want to take you in my arms,
show you the beauty of my garden, the beauty of my love,
piercing the chilly cold,
bringing life to that which is still frozen.

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Love Sonnet 14 My Love Comes Like The Early Summer Rain

My love comes like the early Summer rain,
Which drizzle lends to making flowers bloom,
So once again the meadows could regain,
Their sparkle lost as Winter cast its gloom;
In bright sunlight, as pristine droplets fall,
Rainbows glow round my heart and deep within,
Not one boring moment could I recall,
For in stillness, I hear sweet songs begin;
But raindrops fell and poured their wrath on us,
Soaking our very bones, me and my love,
We might as well just be gardens, and thus,
Welcome this benediction from above;
......And grow and bloom we will throughout the years,
......Assured of rain and sun though Winter nears.

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The Lonely Silver Rain

Watching waves wash up the beach and washing out again
The water shining scarlet as another day begins
Gazing past the droplets falling on my window pane
On the tan and sandy silence of the lonely silver rain

My house and mind are wallowing in states of disarray
Nothing is for certain except you’ve gone away
Wash my hands obsessively but can’t remove the stain
In the tan and sandy silence of the lonely silver rain

Morning fog is crawling like a curse upon the water
Want to scream into the sky but can’t begin to bother
Old friends, like the darkness, never ask me to explain
To the tan and sandy silence of the lonely silver rain

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The Moment of Rain

'You drenched yourself in rain as though you were in pain,
I could hear you crying in the sad music of rain;
Was the sorrow too deep that you had to hide in vain,
The tears under the shadow of the somber saddening rain?
Out there in a corner, I shared some secret dear sorrow,
Since the Moment of Rain: today too and may be another tomorrow;
The smiles did steal some flashes, and you seemed easy and fine,
But I was sobbing silently, inconsolable somewhat to pine;
For a whisper may be in the evening twilight from you side,
That all is fine and you are over it and the sorrow no longer did abide;
Had come too far from the Moment but still the sorrow stayed, Dear,
Like a soul's shadow it prods and does lie to deep for wanton tear;
The answer to the Moment of rain, my scared half glances still seek in vain,
There is still some proportion of the Sweetness of my own Dear pain:
I confess the crime of slowly pilfering the freedom that danced in the rain,
Might have been blind to the flight of the spirits: oh I was insane! '

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The First One To Love Me Was Jesus

The first one to love me was You; Lord
And nothing can take that away.
My soul is refreshed by living water
While my heart flows with love each day.

I thank You for the love of my family
And I thank You for the love of my life.
I thank You for all of the blessings
You give to each husband and wife.

Your glory rides high on the sunsets
Your voice is the thunder of rain.
I thank You for all of the heavens
And Jesus who came to be slain.

I feel when Your eyes are upon me
As You listen to my humble cry,
You've redeemed the soul of Your servant
To dwell in Your mansion on high.

I'll claim each and every promise
From the Lord of the earth and sky.
I'm so glad I'm free from my bondage
Of the grave where my body shall lie.

I thank You for parting the darkness
And guiding my footsteps each day.
I thank You for being my shepherd
You've walked with me all the way.

I know Your armor protects me
From the devil in search of his feast.
And all who are lost without You
Shall dwell in hell with the beast!

JESUS

There once was a traveler who was driven out of town
On His shoulders was a burden that pushed Him to the ground.
On His head was a crown made of thorns from a bush
And the street was so crowded the guards had to push.

They beat Him with nine tails each step of the way
Where Christ found the strength, only God could say.
They stopped at some sandstone at the top of a hill
There was a round hole the cross would soon fill.

They made Him lie down upon that wood cross
There they nailed Him to prove who was boss.
The beam was up-ended by the muscles of men
As it plunged down the hole it was carved to fit in.

Then Jesus looked up at the lightning that flew
And cried, God, My Father, they know not what they do.
They crucified our Lord as His blood flowed to earth
If inside you believe, you feel what love is worth.

They wrapped Him in loincloth when He was taken down
Then carefully removed His scarlet stained crown.
They placed Him in a cave with a large, round, stone door
Before sealing forever, they lay lilies on the floor.
Though it wasn't very long, and the stone was rolled away
For Jesus resurrected, to rise on Easter Day!

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Mitt Romney The First One To Love Me = 2012

The first one to love me was You; Lord
And nothing can take that away.
My soul is refreshed by living water
While my heart flows with love each day.

I thank You for the love of my family
And I thank You for the love of my life.
I thank You for all of the blessings
You give to each husband and wife.

Your glory rides high on the sunsets
Your voice is the thunder of rain.
I thank You for all of the heavens
And Jesus who came to be slain.

I feel when Your eyes are upon me
As You listen to my humble cry,
You've redeemed the soul of Your servant
To dwell in Your mansion on high.

I'll claim each and every promise
From the Lord of the earth and sky.
I'm so glad I'm free from my bondage
Of the grave where my body shall lie.

I thank You for parting the darkness
And guiding my footsteps each day.
I thank You for being my shepherd
You've walked with me all the way.

I know Your armor protects me
From the devil in search of his feast.
And all who are lost without You
Shall dwell in hell with the beast!

JESUS

There once was a traveler who was driven out of town
On His shoulders was a burden that pushed Him to the ground.
On His head was a crown made of thorns from a bush
And the street was so crowded the guards had to push.

They beat Him with nine tails each step of the way
Where Christ found the strength, only God could say.
They stopped at some sandstone at the top of a hill
There was a round hole the cross would soon fill.

They made Him lie down upon that wood cross
There they nailed Him to prove who was boss.
The beam was up-ended by the muscles of men
As it plunged down the hole it was carved to fit in.

Then Jesus looked up at the lightning that flew
And cried, God, My Father, they know not what they do.
They crucified our Lord as His blood flowed to earth
If inside you believe, you feel what love is worth.

They wrapped Him in loincloth when He was taken down
Then carefully removed His scarlet stained crown.
They placed Him in a cave with a large, round, stone door
Before sealing forever, they lay lilies on the floor.

Though it wasn't very long, and the stone was rolled away
For Jesus resurrected, to rise on Easter Day!

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