Hand In Hand
I can hear it on the window of the mind
by David Taylor
drip, drip, drip from high gutter to the ground,
dripping from the verdant leaves,
splashing wet on faces wiped on sleeves.
Drip, drip, drip splashes in puddles
muddied with dust and grime.
Will you walk in the rain, your hand in mine,
will you never speak lest we cease to hear
the drip, drip, drip of love
as it falls so quietly all around.