Raindrops fell,
Like the ringing of some obscure bell,
Sounds, but not of joy,
Gay, but like the melancholy cry
Of an innocent destitute,
In his strange solitude.
Mild but never trying to hide
As the blue sky,
Devouring the bright clouds,
With its sweet poison of silence.

Never mind… the brightest cloud,
Will finds its right place,
In the sullen face of the sky
And would redeem his tranquility
From the deepest oblivion.
Rather, the touch of eternal divinity
As it extricates its hidden pain…
Through the tiny drops of rain.