Journey in the Rain

Down the path a man walked right,
With a little glare of light
From the sun that hid behind trees
And nestled in the softest breeze.
In a forest made of solemn wood,
Among the path where great trees stood
And towered over the simple man,
Who walked the path, who saw the land.
No look, no expression on his face,
And he walked the path to no real place.
No sun had set, no moon rose high,
And no creature sung to the sky.
Darkness softly engulfed the path
Which had felt its first summer bath.
A drop, then two, three, then four,
Another, and another, and then some more,
Splashed upon the soft ground and way,
Washing down the former day.