Pittering with patter calls
the cold, light rain of summer falls,
each drop, each scent of nether things
a pine ache heart of rememberings.

So sad the face, so lithe the form,
within these walls that thwart the storm
yet still within the flirelight glows
something sadder, older, glimmer grows.

For wisdom ceases, daylight fades
faces wither into the shades
and nothing but the battered wind
to beat the panes like one who'd sinned

Still more the cries of distant heart
of love asunder, torn apart
revealing not the state of things
but hinting only glimmerings

Yet each day anew, with lively fire
to lift and raise our spirits higher
the simple dew drop fall of rain
to wash and ease our naked pain

Each dew drop moisture gently falls
and past deeds done the memory palls
to cleanse and heal the ancient tears
and wash away the passioned fears