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Soft patter of rain on the window
It's cold outside.
It's warm inside.
Yet,there's regret in the comfort,
it's confining,like prison walls,
I gasp for freedom.
It's cold outside.
Yet,I have always liked
the cold wind on my face.
Understand,I like the touch
of your soft hands on my sweating brow,
I like to hear the thumping of your heart,
I know you can provide the soothing song
to ease my pain.
But yet,my restless soul
is shaking with the patter
of the soft rain on the window.
It calls my name.Please, understand,
once you've felt the thunder
pulsing through your veins,
you've tasted life
and can't hold still again,
That's where I belong.
January 2001
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