It rained the day I met you,
It poured the day you left.
And truth to tell, the drizzle fell
From rapture to bereft.
You deluged, and I let you,
Then you stormed right out my door.
And as you swept, the heavens wept
In tawdry metaphor.
My memories are wet through,
My hope is all washed out.
I do not need the sky to bleed:
My tearducts face no drought.