Love supplies a mysterious power,
into your hands.
When you write about rain,
And when you write about tears,
It is raining. Rain is good. I feel tears in my eyes. Tears also are good. I write and the raindrops sweep away words from my paper leaving it blank, wet. And there is no one to hold an umbrella for me. Therefore, there won't be a new drop of tear anymore.
Though it won't end, let me stop now.