The Visitor

She lay down
Her weary head
Upon the downy pillow
And wrapped herself in silken sheets
Those long black lashes gently drooped
Until they hid the sparkling emeralds
And yet,
She
Warm between the ivory sheets
Could not sleep

The Rain murmured a foreign melody
On the cobbled path below her rooms
And the grass
Bathed in moist freshness
Swayed for the first time that spring
And danced to the
Music of the Wind
The leaves whispered secrets to the nightingale
Who raised his voice
In a luscious chorus
Rhapsodizing the demure beauty of
The first night of Rain
The earthy aroma of read earth
Drifted on the Wind
And coyly negotiated
Its entrance
Through the satin folds
Of the curtain
Drawn taut across the window.
And suddenly
Those emeralds eyes opened wide
As the wind delivered its message
And she leapt up
From the feathered bed,
Ripped apart those stifling curtains,
Threw open the windows
Wide
And leaned out.
The gentle wind that knew her so well
Teased those ebony curls
As they
Danced with the Wind
She smiled.
They had not told her about the rain.
She had not heard him creep
From the east
Into her land
Rain had come
At last
How now could she sleep?