Situated at the foot of a gutter spout
Rain water washes over it,
Days ago before a desert sun
With its mean streak beat it dry
The gush of summer squall
Utterly forgotten
If not for the spirit of your father
Watching over it and you,
Blessing you with a ghostly sigh
When you most needed it,
His deep down love leaving
Its moist mark on the ground
A whisper from the other side
You can read from the puddle
The way gypsies read tea leaves
Telling you that he is still there
And that he still loves you.
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