The Taste

The taste
of rain
- Why kneel?

by Jack Kerouac

Comments (2)

Desolate winds that beat the doors of Heaven, and beat The doors of hell and blow there many a whimpering ghost Thanks for sharing this wonderful poem here.
I kiss my wailing child and press it to my breast, And hear the narrow graves calling my child and me. O heart the winds have shaken, the unappeasable host Is comelier than candles at Mother Mary's feet. This is hauntingly beautiful. I remember those days with a crying child rocking in my arms. How all the expanse of the universe can condense down to insignificance next to the voice of a single, tiny child in my arms.