She is a rain woman
Encapsulated by melancholy
Poisoned by frost and precipitation
A treacherous typhoon, fatal upon anyone she should meet
Pleasantries are pointless
No clear skies, only ones of dark demeaning gray
"What does the sun look like?" she often wonders.
It is not for a rain woman to know.
The life of a rain woman is to be conducted alone for eternity
For no one desires to be forever shrouded by rain; they will fall ill
So, solitary she remains
As she roams, driven by wanderlust
Permanently accompanied by endless, dark, and gloomy rain.
Perhaps, one day her clouds will part,
And she will see the sun.
Women of the rain are few and far between, but those seen bear an unprecedented sadness. They lead a lonely life, and no one is above being loved. We must become their umbrella rather than watch them soak.
Side note: It means a great deal to me that people are reading my poetry, thank you so much.