A glorious gift that was given to me, a few years back

My face is wet with the rain
But my heart is warm to the core
For I follow at will again
The road I loved of yore,
And the dim trees beat the dark,
And the swelling ditches moan;
With the joy of the singing, soaring lark
I follow the road alone.

Alone in the living night
Away from the babble of tongues,
Alone with the old delight
Of the night wind in my lungs,
And the wet air on my cheeks
And the warm blood in my veins,
Alone with the joy he knows who seeks
The thresh of the young spring rains,
With the smell of the pelted earth,
The tearful drip of the trees,
Making him dream of the sound of mirth
That comes with the clearing breeze.

‘Tis a rare and wondrous sight
To walk in the wet a while,
And see the slow delight
Of the sun’s first pallid smile,
And watch the meadows breath again
And the far woods turn green,
Drunk with the beauty of wind and rain
And the sun’s warm smile between!

I have made me a vagrant song,
For my heart is warm to the core.
And glad, Ah! Glad that the night is long,
For I follow the road once more,
And the dim trees beat the dark,
And the swelling ditches moan;
With the joy of the singing, soaring lark
I travel the road, alone.

Amary Hare

Thank you.
I love you.