![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsthMi1dZJM92LkpY9bjMVXIDryrGhu8dT4Yyi34dz2ejukASWFvj7A7YGVnPkzuOi5SMZtxVolDMYssXdOOmgFue3foWnov_hoN1VoVd6_F9F4broRV6vBbzJA3mE-JNRYO_l9csnEj4/s400/IMG_5441.jpg) |
'She burnt me. In vain.'
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In little pieces they fall,
Cool as ice, upon my cheeks,
They pour.
My boiling skin, they touch,
They splutter.
As they roll, they vanish,
Evaporate.
I hold out my hands,
They deviate.
I stand in a puddle,
They leak away.
They run, away, far,
Meandering,
Their escapade.
Loathing, the pouring,
As I count the drops,
It stops to rain.
I look around,
I burnt the rain.