Sense Of Mysterious Magic Poem by RoseAnn V. Shawiak

Rain falling quietly, gently, touching memories of
the past when very young, going outside, playing
in the rain.

Enjoying how it felt good against our skin, even
though it was so cold, looking up into the sky try-
ing to see where each drop originated above.

A lost cause, but we never tired of it, a game we
loved to play, it gave us a sense of a mysterious
magic that drove our curiosity insane at times.

Yet it was a kind of childish game that we'd play
every time it rained, remembering this totally
while listening to rain coming down upon a CD.