Scattered
Showers
Through
The
Overnight
Hours.
I wake
Again,
And
Hear
The
Rain,
Look
At the
Ceiling,
And feel
An
Ancient
Pain.
Every
Loss
And
Every
Gain
Crowd
In for
Review,
But
There is
Little
I can
Do.
I’m
Not
Always
Wise,
My
Virtues
Are a
Disguise,
I am
Short of
Friends,
And my
Scrap
Of
Talent
May
End.
I’m
Living
On air,
And
Who will
Care,
If I
Excel,
Or
If I
Fail?
I try
To
Rest.
I will
Do my
Best.
Tomorrow
Is
Another
Day,
So
They
Say,
And
By then
The
Rain
Will have
Gone
Away.