Downpour Barbara Salama
There are raindrops pattering on tin roofs, And along the tightly spaced buildings I am aware of the hollow whoosh of the wind Flying angrily into window panes. Through the suffocating fog I can make out Flashes of color from the umbrellas of passer-by, And from a glimpse of a face with sharp eyes A hopeful expression rises into the air And comes crashing to the street with the downpour.
44 ~ Rain
