It's a cold world out there, and wet.
The green trees are full of the rain,
little grey clouds moving over ahead.
The sidewalks are like rivers, the sky
full of crystalline bows, lemon-colored
sunlight strongly shooting through leaves.
And you say, "what a beautiful day,"
because you don't ever see the dark sky.
You don't see the lightning pierce again,
or watch the lonely hill break into tundra.
You see flowers in the distance, I nothing.
I can only see you walk in your pretty world;
it seems so far away, when I come down to it.
But I can still see you there, always.