he
When I see the rain,
I think of him.
He was like the rain.
Water in his dark blue eyes.
And a grey cloud
brooding on his brow.
His prescence could fill rivers
and his touch was gentle
and cold.
Those who got close shivered,
But they were always embraced.
And lucky for me
And like the rain,
he was always indiscriminating
As to whom he touched.
