Drip-drop, pitter-patter, I found you skipping stones
in the quiet of the gentle
afternoon rain.
In your dirt-cuffed jeans with disheveled
wet hair, you seemed
to have jumped from the pages
of an old Mark Twain;
just to be here for me
in the midst of the still stirring
still gentle
but not so lonely rain.
in the quiet of the gentle
afternoon rain.
In your dirt-cuffed jeans with disheveled
wet hair, you seemed
to have jumped from the pages
of an old Mark Twain;
just to be here for me
in the midst of the still stirring
still gentle
but not so lonely rain.
This piece has been published in Teen Ink’s monthly print magazine.
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