Rain You Much by “Diane”
I am the river.
When the rain falls on him, the mountain, the river flows, and
I etch glorious river valleys and canyons, but he doesn’t always know I’m flowing, and
sometimes I think he reads my meandering thought carved into his soul;
oh please, let the mountain come to me
and let it grow into life as if not everything is made of stone
and I can climb him because
he is not a mountain, but
a puppy dog.
— Douglas Gilbert