April Showers
Beyond the bay window, more verdant it grew:
With every free raindrop, denser the hue.
I drink; then I write,
I call without fight.
This consistent cold spring rain
Leaves nothing to vain:
I call on my friends
To relive all our pain.
My friends; they have said,
Nothing is dead.
Left all alone
Reading by the phone.
The boughs they do sway
While others do pray,
Their desires be done:
While yours; still to come.
Left all alone
Make your own home.
Robert Pennington Price
