The moody Rain Goddess in poor Man's sky
It's a dark feast and stars were hidden purposely
And the Moon on vacation it seems.
The Goddess comes out through the dark clouds,
Just a small drizzle to their innocent hopes.
The poor girl is ready to go out from the ghetto with an unknown bridegroom,
A shooting star has fallen down to their journey as a chief guest.
'A good omen my dear and make a hundred thousand offspring for the next census to get temper with the blunt life.'
The bride's close relative an old Blacksmith said.
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
Added by Poetry Lover
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