she lay there beneath the rising sun,
draped in tranquil sanctity.
not a speck on her fair,fabric face,
she was a part of heaven's purity.
her childhood friend the wind would say,
"blessed be the owner of this pretty face!"
but time sowed envy and conspired with all
to steal from her, this gifted grace.
the wind still whistled, but now it shrieked down her ears,
and the sun and the stars did dance to her pain.
all she wished for, was to be soaked in the rain;
instead,she was moistened by tears.
for long, she stood confused,in denial.
the cruel, dark clouds often did fool her;
they roared and laughed at her desperate ordeal
of waiting in hope for the cleansing rain water.
she still lies there, drenched in flesh and blood,
she is my life, she still boils in the sun.
i call upon you, dear lady of the rain
to soak her in fairness, to redeem her grace.
