when it's raining,

I can hear a frightful cry.

It comes,

from just on down the street,

where I watched a soldier die.

And still,

he sits in the courtyard,

sipping elder-wine.

He even,

turns his face up,

when the old clock starts to chime.

I swear,

that he can see me,

but never wanders near.

And the bit of mist,

that hides his face,

for his sweetheart, is a tear.


when it's raining,

I take care that I stop by,

with a cloak,

to keep the chill out,

and a linen for his eyes.

a/n: elder-wine is wine that is made from elderberries. A linen is simply a term for a handkerchief. And, as I said before, all references to death here are metaphorical.