It was in the rain

A lamp-lit wild constant of a quiet love's refrain.

They met, simply, and there at a distance

Family fashion standing, waiting, dripping ancestry's distain.

It was in the rain.

A bandage, red, and damaged, a reflection of his pain.

Their uncomplicated meeting, heralds

Conflict, future danger, and the world split in twain.

But what can stand forever twixt two hearts, unwelcome shame?

When the war-torn road leaves but little time

For love, and less and fleeting little for yet unimagined blame?

It was in the rain.

And yet he leaves her, star-bound, lonesome, to only fortune's claim.

(Who can say with conscious bare that they their

Soldier's wandering, half-taken heart have made for certain tame?)

It was in the rain.

A passing year, and he returns, a title for his name,

Oh, But late, too late! And his welcome brief

Finds that he with sorrow's bullets his bride neglect has slain.

He sees her in the rain.

A flaxen ghost of father'd sins. A veil the rainbow's gained.

He kneels, and places roses upon her

Grave, listening hearing, whispers, as the coroner proclaims:

"She died beneath the rain."