Gray drops paint charcoal shadows on the skin.
They wear the windowpanes of old souls thin.
Hold out your hand against the falling light.
Believe with me that rain is infinite.

The mood is fragile as a curtain lace,
Such filigree no weather could replace.
Your fingers brush a brief tear from my eye.
Such tenderness deserves a warm reply.

Copyright,2009, Sandra Fowler

Sandra Fowler

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/charcoal-shadows/