For the Rain

Chicago raised, a royal name, her voice

And amber scent; her tender touch consoles

My anxious, trembling mind. Remaining choice

And longing hearts entangled, smoking coals.

Her hair, so lush and full and soft and brown,

Like Oaks in summer, bathed in joy so pure.

Her dimples sweet and light, her face is crowned 

With jewels of Hazel, eyes, e’er deep and sure. 

Blushed cheeks, my heart is drawn to she

And she to me. That forrest green, the birds

That sing her song; a wind, a mellow breeze

Which follows every breath, each solemn word. 

I kissed her cheek once, warmly hand in hand.

Perhaps one day we share a soul, a land.