Beyond a curtain of ever-flowing rain,

prevails the stubborn regatta

where the boats race each other,

where I last saw you.

Your skirt was patterned with wood violets,

and your eyes a leisure blue.

A smile sweeter than dewberry,

and a knife behind your back.

I never thought that the day would come,

where your love would ever falter.

But with words as sugary as berry cream you left me,

I thought you never would.

And yet you did, like the last trickle of a dry creek,

you shattered my heart like glass.

And in the downpour, ever pounding at the pier, it wasn’t hard, 

to hide the tears on my cheek.