I am the rider in the rain,
The blur of black in the midst of the storm's clatter,
When will I be home again?
Or is home again not here nor there? Somewhere in between,
Hard to thank the flower's father,
Without him I would die, though on this night that might be better,
All around the ravens gather,
Their feathers flattened and matted, their squawks muted in the hail,
I fade into dreams of silver,
I see her face lit up like gold by the fire that burns and hisses,
Without dreams I might wither,
In deep desire I find a lover not thought honest of one such as I,
I awake the rider in the rain,
The blur of black in the midst of the storm's clatter,
When will I be home again?
