I do not know when I fell in love with the rain, love the beauty of it; love its purity; love it selfless.
Ah! I do not know when the rain again quietly went to earth. I am out of the house. Look, then, like strands of rain drift as ox hair light, like a needle-thin, thick interwoven to the earth to shed.
I got pot in the yard, the fish landed on the flowers, colorful petals have been washed clean, an
