Passing Showers
By John Matthew
Yesterday a passing, transient shower,
Slaked my thirst so gently, softly,
Showers in March are unheard —
In this arid part of the world.
They say the world is dying, I know,
I remember how you said love died,
It was a passing shower, a fancy,
That left you cold and shivering.
This distance, these wired networks,
Couldn’t bring your love to you,
You became strangers, distances apart,
The eyes, too, misted with showers.
What are you holding in your heart —?
Which you can’t tell me in stealing time,
What is it that your sorrowing soul,
Keeps wrapped in the mystery of your words?
Friend, your world is far removed,
I can only view the receding landscape,
Of another woman’s deep distress,
Is it much to expect the showers to pass?
If you come out of the fort, step over the moat,
Open your heart and cry in the rain,
I am sure the passing showers will cease,
And usher in the blossoms of spring!