Disappearing Ink

Black and white awnings keep the rain 

from splattering on my head and the windows.

Time is cruel as my pages fade 

into the shadows, 

the ink getting fainter,

and I can no longer climb ladders 

to pinch the ripe, golden stars.

The moon untouchable, 

as I get soaked by the downpour, 

and the ink slowly disappears.

Tomorrow, the pretty blooms will taste Spring, 

and the empty page will wait impatiently to be filled once more.