A heart is full of tempest winds,
It often howls and blows insane,
The mind can’t clear the clouds away,
But without clouds, ‘t would be no rain.
The rain that makes the poems grow,
That clears the sterile and the dust,
Refreshing seeds after the plow,
Rejuvenating things at last.
Things that were stale and let to rot
Now they may bare good fruit again.
Forget the fear, new chance you’ve got,
So come and dance into the rain.