As I stand by the window
and listen to the rain and look
at the glass being washed,

my delicate soul,
cleansed crystal clear,
is happy.

On the day the falling snow
covers the mountain road,
satisfaction fills my heart.

As I cross the dirt floor
during dusk, I reminisce
about the times when I used
to shake the snow from my feet.

On rainy days,
I wonder about the people
I have forgotten.

Outside the window,
your face stands as an
oil painting.

Like familiar footsteps,
rain is still falling outside
the window.