By Amy Lowell, 1874 – 1925
All night our room was outer-walled with rain.
Drops fell and flattened on the tin roof,
And rang like little disks of metal.
Ping!—Ping!—and there was not a pin-point of silence between
The rain rattled and clashed,
And the slats of the shutters danced and glittered.
But to me the darkness was red-gold and crocus-colored
With your brightness,
And the words you whispered to me
Sprang up and flamed—orange torches against the rain.
Torches against the wall of cool, silver rain
P.S. My headache is better, just a residual shadow headache that usually follows the really bad one. The one last night had come and gone throughout the day. The thing with cluster headaches is that if you can stay busy and be up and around, they aren’t as noticeable but when you stop, they hit you like a ton of bricks, which is what happened last night when I laid down to go to bed and wrote my post for today. I’m really glad that I have good medicine that actually works.