It seems that rain drops are tear drops,
the downpour from the arborists' spree,
more oak cities now bare; to reign the sapiens
did we not once swing upon the wings of those harmless giants?
In homage to the salty queen, we give by abundance
a slithery compound to linger, for a thousand years
when overwhelming - she'll gasp for air
to cry from the sky, for the waste blinds her eyes.
Summer seasons appear tearless
yet the dribbling mourn flows from the ice
for growth releases the reserves from stasis
soon ducts will dry and dry will life,
our tear drops then, will be the only drops.
In rain and wistful dispersement, waters bequeath
sensor wrought sadness - corroding our scales
the despair seeping from each ripple,
as a natural force recites this verse with me;
The rain drops are tear drops,
we never openly cry in the warmer haze,
when clouds do fall, from overwhelming weight
sent forth are the moist whimpers of our slow death.