by Portia Burton
Sometimes like torrential rains,
And drenches you so completely
That you feel as if your body
Is dripping down cell by cell
And dissolving into the soil.
Sometimes like a gentle breeze,
And fondling your hair naughtily
Entices you to follow her
Through the serpentine paths
Of some unfathomable dense woods,
And leaves you there to answer
The riddles of a babbling brook.
Sometimes singing a wordless song,
And then shapes it into a cloud.
And enwraps you into it,
And then you become that very song,
And then to yourself you cease to belong.
©Portia Burton 2012