Rain falls sweetly across my face,

Lost in a poets kind of embrass,

Foreign terms in his words,

Like a love song for his worlds,

Meanings beyond meanings his words are so sweet,

More so than the candy we eat,

A love for the unknown is where I stand,

On the brink of disaster shall I land,

His soft wary words cut through the flames,

I shall see him once agian,

In a thunderless rain where thoughts can escape,

His book was the only one to breathe in faith,

When your eighteenth year past the winter's day,

The melodies get brighter and you fade away,

He was life and his book his story,

When his words speak lauder than yours,

He was my sun and I his moon,

Why did he have to go so soon,

May those words serve as a memory,

On why his poetry was so sedimentary.