On nights like these
when silvery
drops of rain
dance with glee
on my roof,
bathe the flowers
the grass and below,
I am tucked
warmly in bed
with a book
for company,
while Barbara Streisand
sings my feelings exactly,
I ask for nothing more
except that
the electricity
should not fail
… and for you.
There I said it.
(This poem was published in my first volume of poetry titled Weapons of Words on Pages of Pain, published in 1993)
