A torrid affair with the rain
dances in deep puddles saturnine.
Sunshines of joy I used to feign.
The only thing to distract me from pain
was nicely and deceptively benign:
A torrid affair with the rain.
Looking out the windowpane,
I never thought I’d think asinine
sunshines of joy I used to feign.
I looked forward to when the Earth would drain
the heavens’ tears, or are they mine? —
A torrid affair with the rain.
Yet now I strive to abstain
from gloom’s dark design:
Sunshines of joy I used to feign.
The joy of the Lord is my campaign
that enables me to untwine
a torrid affair with the rain.
Sunshines of joy I used to feign.
The Lutheran Column 