And the rain hammers outside the window

And the rain hammers outside the window,
and kills all hope
to the long-awaited warmth
and soaks the streets of clothes.

River roads, like streams,
with coffee muddy water,
wash away signs of love,
and carried away after themselves

get away from the miserable fuss
to the edges are distant, good,
where there is no strife and war,
where people are kind, others.