All night she stayed,
forehead pressed
against the chilly window,
waiting for the rain
to turn to snow.
Pleading eyes watched
the streetlight, as rain
fell down, and wind
chased it sideways.
All she needed
was to see it turn
white, to cover life
outside the window
with tiny pieces of
icy hope.
But morning brought
only dark puddles
outside and on
her face.
Talking to the Clouds 
beautiful
I love the poem, I can see a bit of hopefulness, but overall I find it sad (which is really nice – read on). I did briefly think about a young child pressed up against the window, hoping for snow, which is a pleasant picture and made me smile. I’m not sure why I find myself drawn to melancholy in art/music/poetry. Sadness draws out much greater depth of feeling. Is this “normal?” It may be a reflection of what is going on inside, but I think that I am drawn in that direction even during happy times in my life. Do others share the feeling?
Oh, yes…
Unknown to many, writers/artists are amongst the few to see the true/real face of things through mental and emotional glasses unobstructed by any “imposed” optimism… Yeah, that’s good when you’ve got the flu of apply for an over-draft😉, but not when you write. Metaphors then make their seen, naked reality bearable…
Welcome to the club😄
Rom
Morning Sarah,
Truly beautiful and deeply felt imagery complete with the picture…
Hm, truth and reality are always sad… It’s just their reflection in our eyes which makes them different…
Have a warm day, gazing at the tasty puddles at the bottom of your tea/coffee cups😃
Rom
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thank you!