Monday, September 24, 2018
AUTUMN RAIN
The rain doesn't
understand
anything --
not vapor,
not liquid,
not solid.
Not rivers
which make lakes
and oceans,
not the lakes
and oceans.
The rain doesn't
understand
this melancholy
afternoon,
this old, grey
poet lost
in memory.
Doesn't
understand
what love is,
and death.
