The month of May.
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The month of May.
The rain, beautiful and smelling of apple blossoms.
Falling quick and silent,
Only to collect on leaves,
The rain, life giving, coming for swelling lakes.
Going to the skies, just to be grounded once again.
Falling drop by drop on my nose,
Wanting to feel the slow downfall of cool water.
Turning red with my tears,
Thick and slipping for my eyes.
Still wanting the lost sun.
© Lestat de lioncourt. All rights reserved
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