Rain

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In the room at the left wing,
It was to be the rainiest school term of all.
In the early morning,
Thick fuchsia clouds would veil the sky,
Crimping the air,
And then the lilting downpour,
Tilting time,
Although perhaps the rain was in the heart,
As the sun came out inexorably anyhow
Through most of the day.
But it fell.
It was the morning
That brought rain
Inside .the room—
Tiny arrows,
Drizzles of song,
Unnoticed.
It was just a class
(And rains had nothing to do
With lectures and reports)
But it was raining,
With no one hearing the silvery sound
Perhaps because inside rooms,
Rains were meant to be quiet.
By late September the floods came,
The semester had run its course
And no one knew what happened
Inside the room at the left wing,
Except that there was talk
Of the persistence of quiet rains
And of a passerine that flew out
Unnoticed and unseen.

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