Raindrops whisper on the tin roof's drum,

A symphony that calls me finally home.

There you'll be, a shawl draped round your form,

Lost in memories weathering life's storm.

A thousand teardrops, like the falling rain,

Glimmer in your eyes, a heart etched with pain.

Do you know, dear one, the clouds we see now,

Hold echoes of sunlight, a forgotten vow?

When you see me, weathered by distant shores,

Can you speak of the laughter we held before?

Old photographs blur, a face half-unknown,

Is this who I was, a seed long sown?

Through the drumming rain, I'll find my way back,

To stories whispered beneath the eaves' crack.

"Where have you wandered?" your voice, soft and low,

I'll say, "I sought myself, but you helped me grow."

Tahseen Nower Prachi is a writer whose head is a koi pond of micro tales too scattered to come down to her keyboard. For more of her little pieces follow The Minute Chronicles on Facebook.