SINGING IN THE RAIN |
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The fingers of the rain are tapping at the windows Many times I send my thought ahead to examine the landscape and then to wait for me as for a dog. The fingers of the rain are tapping at the windows I can't sing anymore I can't manage the words neither the flower nor the car nor the oxencart. I can't manage to can And the fingers of the rain are lapping at the windows They are taking my eyes away through the glass for a walk Come on, my darling and clean into myself. |
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Poem & Photograph © Florentin Smarandache, 1999 Web design by Gerald England This page last updated: 12th November 2006. |