There is nothing as lovely as the sound of
Rain, the patter on the ground that slowly
Undoes the treacherous work of the sun.
Lovingly the mother patches her scorched child,
Yielding the pain away from the babe.
Little by little the previous attitude
Of innocence is regained, indeed the ground is
Very much nearly the same, and so mother will be there
Every time that her child is in need of care
Just like the sun does not mean to hurt
Anything here, the moon doesn’t mean to
Menace animals, yet it always will.
Everything must hurt sometimes, love most of all.
Sometimes only love can fix loves own injuries.