soft brown hair flowing in the wing
16 years of age sitting in the grass
the dew seeps into his jeans as
he writes a song to his love
clouds roll overhead, thunder strikes
he gets up as the soft pounding of rain is heard
beginning to walk lightning flashes across the sky
it begins to pour, he is unable to salvage the song
the ink rolls off the page creating a blank page
there is some resemblance of what was written before
hidden behind the blotches of dried ink
he crumples the paper in anger and smiles
the sun comes out and the rays begin to soak into his skin
the wind blowing sweet love songs
he remembers her hair
silkily and smooth, and those eyes
he sits back down to rewrite but this time more enchanting
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