She is now intertwining some dainty words in her head
If her head was a shop where he could drop in for a while
While it was raining outside
She wouldn’t mind telling him feel free to pick up some words to make a full sentence.
She would say no need to be laconic, sir
“Words help you out those vivacious rains…”
But he never comes, so she sits here falling in sleep with her plaintive poem.
A poem for my little friend, Ch., For her little love.