by roy regan
As the cold, hard rain beats down
upon the roads of ink black tar.
I think back to my yesterdays,
of you, and where you are.
As I watch the rain beat down
from this rotting window frame,
The joy returns of the love you gave
in that quiet country lane.
My mind recalls your beauty
and the summer days so free.
As I`m haunted by these memories
...do you also think of me?