Three Hours – 3 PM

WHEN the rain goes by, the smell still hangs
 heavy, like an entrusted secret;
 sweet, like cracking voices still singing
 fresh where the polychrome bends

YOU gave me a glimpse
 of your hidden heart:
 the clouds still passing, and the rain still falling,
 yet the grain still waving in your changing eyes

MAGICAL, like the story you live in,
 mystical, like the respect we all deserve --
 the rain will pass my friend, it will,
 and while the world's still big, it's
 no bigger than all that's still there
 for you to find

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