It doesn’t have to be the

Snowflakes on the ground

or the cry of the cold winter’s day.

It doesn’t have to be the

jumping petals of flowers or the music on Easter day.

It could be the park,

Dove Dale at summer when

it’s hot so that people can sit on it’s wet grass,

or the road at  spring where the benches are dry to sit on.

Be a cry of sorrow

where you don’t want to go.

Notice the raindrops like the tears

rolling down Mother Earth’s cheeks.