Beneath the sky's gray, solemn dome, I waited for the rain to come, In dreams of cool, sweet drops to heal, A balm for woes I long concealed. Yet when the heavens broke in wrath, And poured their gift upon my path, The chill of unripe storms awoke, A fevered blaze in every stroke. The rain, though fervently desired, Did not quell the pain as hoped, Instead, it left me wet and tired, An ache with fever's grip now cloaked. So now I see, with clearer sight, That not all rains bring sweet respite, And sometimes, in the seeking's flaw, We find the truth we never saw.