Oeuvre III
Tonight, the rain echoes through my heart
From its distance I can hear
The silence of the static drops of fear
How ethereal it must bid
Those cloudy days of December
And chase me by the night of a cold remember
Upon my sitting, I’m paralyzed by the thought
Of losing you against the rain
Which I dread nonetheless, the unbearable pain
By which circumstance, I shall merit
To suffer from spasmodic frisson
If death be told to choose between love and reason
So tonight, no more static drop of fears
For I shall wash away this elegy fraught with tears.
