Tiny tales

Rains make me sad,

my tears washed away

in the torrents that lash

at my borrowed window panes.

I  am no queen, fair and noble

with my life etched on marble.

I am no battered slave,

whose name is called out in pity.

And no, I  am no warrior princess

with arms of steel or a soul of gold.

Like the rain-laden cloud,

I  carry my tears.

Like the brown earth,

I bear my blows.

Like the fluttering leaves,

I fight my battles.

I live and I  live.

Rains make me sad.

 

 

 

 

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