A man walks about, alone down. A quiet small town, street. During the middle of the night, in a faint. Rain, in the fresh air. God’s lights, are out. Leaving, his own to rise above. The bare, wet concrete. He’s, left his pain. Where he’s, left his unkind. Home, behind. Him he’s gone. To find, some sadder. But more satisfying, state. Of mind, in which. To exist, through the mist. The house’s green, lawns reach. Out, and touch. The boundaries, of. The street, in cozy. Harmony, green. Grass does, love. The rain, concealing. Filling, and feeling. In the distance, a chance. Train, sounds. Off its solitary, loud, Resounding, horn. The man hears, and is warmed. And cheered, by its mere. Sound, as he. Splashes down, the street. He meets, a car filled. With young, people swerving. Around, the corner and as it goes. By down, the hill. The man, can. Hear, young. Laughter, over. Their radio’s, loving. Melody, he’s. Got a chill, his shoes are wet. And his coat, is hung. Heavy, on his back. He, didn’t take. An overcoat, and the cold. Is beginning, to ache. Yet, his sad soul. Doesn’t care, whether. The wet, water. Drenches him because he’s, wet. Inside just the same, the warm water. Drips off his hair, running. Down, his cheek. Hiding, an occasional tear. For nobody, he’s. Drenched with love but there’s nobody, home. For him, there’s nobody. Any, place for him. He’s, filled. With unused happiness, his sadness. Isn’t concealed, from the rain. A man needs, a bit of rain. A man needs, a woman to share his life with.
September 1969