Michael Parke, Staff Writer

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Oh darling, however do you walk?
Everyday the same path through
darkness, and still your jacket shines
brightly against the rain

Tell me, Child, do you have friends?
How’s the wind blowing?
Will you see me again?
Oh darling, you’re still too young to be going
under such a wonder as the Tower alone

If only your mother was here to take you
there on holiday—

Poor thing,
standing in the rain, always,
malaise heavy with the weather,
a regular occurence, I suppose,
since it always seems that way

Standing there, next to storm drain
at night, early morning,
then the coming of the music,
calling out your name

Madeline, always Madeline,
against a backdrop of rain.

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