It was a grey morning,
Filled with the sound of rain,
Moving slowly across the roofs,
Nearer and nearer,
There I walk soaking wet,
As the cloud passed my head.
As I looked to the left,
My gaze lied heavy on a figure,
There I saw... him,
Under a tree,
Lying on the grass,
Ripples expanding across the lake nearby.
He was still dry, still relaxing
Of the rain that comes quietly.
The rain reached the moment,
Where it almost touched his hair,
But in that brief moment,
Grey as it may be,
He was happy and dry,
Enjoying the morning sky.
And me myself?
The world ain't all sunshine and rainbows,
No harm playing in the rain sometimes,
Whipped my hair and started moving,
Slowly as the cold wind blows by,
Quietly passing as phantoms barely seen.
Wet I was but still relaxing,
No longer oblivious of the rain,
Still moving, slow I may be but steady.