The spring rain falls like tears from the leaden sky. Why do the heavens weep?
Why does Mother Nature mourn so? Perhaps she grieves for the year that has passed us by, for the flowers that have wilted and the leaves that have withered in winter’s cold embrace, lost to time forever more.
Yes, she laments each passing season, each sunset upon the horizon that brings the day to a close. Yet all endings, however bittersweet, open the way for new beginnings and new life.
She will smile once again and the sun will shine down its light upon the world anew.
Until then, let her share her sorrow. Let the downpour wash away the past to bring forth the future, bright with promise and hope.
Fickle is the Muse's favour,
Alighting in the minds of but a lucky few.
Like the furtive fluttering of gossamer wings,
It tickles the senses and awakens one's sleeping spirit
To endless possibilities and effortless creation.
Until it takes flight, seemingly on a whim,
As if it never was, leaving us wanting.
Leaving naught but a terrible lack, an absence,
An endless drought of ideas that stretches on and on.
Oh, but to be at Inspiration's mercy,
To walk that line between its benevolence and its indifference,
What a dreadfully wonderful place to be!
Sing to me of days gone by
Of days when we stood in the sun
And the shadows were far behind
Sing to me your songs of today
Of how your head hangs heavy
Yet your spirit remains strong
Yes, sing to me of days to come
Of when we'll hold each other closeAnd once again stand in the sun