First version, new one...

Rainy morning.

The rain is beautiful

this morning.  It washes

the walls of the city, the

splattered park benches and

rusted cars, like the

hand of mother nature

still managing, still tending

to a ravaged planet.  On a

rainy morning, everyone

seeks shelter:  shoppers
under the awnings

alongside homeless junkies

and poets, and the mutts

who not for a moment

stop scrounging for crumbs.

There is hope on a rainy

morning .  You walk out

into rivers of loss, and

but for the smudges of eye

pencil, no one would even

notice your tears.