Hints of rain,

the clouds gather lazily, slowly. Their movement goes unnoticed

until they pick up momentum.

A trumpet call

sounded across my winter sky.

Deny that there is a need to slumber on. I shiver,

a ripple runs through the soul

speaking of the signs of rain

coming with the augury of the change of way.

Someone sends the notes of piano

playing in the still dark fog.

The scattered armies have massed into a cloud.

Somewhere across the continents and oceans

I hear her play an ode to the Raindrop.

The notes slide on the window pane.

I wake up to the sound of her voice

going mute and making way

for the first ever raindrop

sliding across my sky.