Foolish woman, trying to drown her distress,
She ambles down rainy streets alone;
Weary, she grapples with her loneliness,
Poor thing! she'll return drenched to the bone
There are feelings she finds hard to define - -
Walking in the rain helps clear her view;
Soon the proper words and cadence align,
And with verse she'll share her pain with you
Poems are a priceless commodity
That allow sorrow to be dispersed;
And you, loyal patron of her artistry,
Will read words in which you're well rehearsed
Once again, her tears will run down your face,
With closed eyes you will clearly review
All the memories her mind can't erase,
All because her poem spoke to you
Nicely done and far reaching. The world of Poetry is limitless and you have captured some of it, beautifully, in this lovely poem.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Poetry is always our alter ego. In songs we can find everything that can not be seen on the poet's face. The poem reveals his split, opens his soul. Bravo Lora.