I'm Not Leaving

Rain was falling the size of pistachios,
The ground was muddy enough for a sow,
But lie over truth I regrettably chose,
And I was not leaving 'til she heard me out;
At her window, I cast pebbles,
An old pen that'd run out of ink,
I'd stand all night in the cold—
I couldn't care less if I got sick...
So let the rain varnish my skin,
Until the rain itself becomes my shroud—
This weather won't dampen my determination;
I'm not leaving...until she hears me out...


—Kevin Waring