Do not just fall for the rain peddled
by sappy movies and cheap paperbacks
bought at train stations on lonely winter mornings,
by poetry bound in stiff card that oozes history
and verses swathed in wistful sighs and coffee stains.
Do not just fall for this rain
arrested, by this song of a hundred stories,
by the harmony of a thousand crashing raindrops.
Instead, open your doors and take a walk.
And when you come across a puddle
leap into it unrestrained
the stains on your jeans are no match
for the gashes on a regretful heart.