I bless the rain delay, as I bequeath my yesterday. Rain ends, hope fades. We gather at the runway. I have nothing to declare, so empty-handed. I was declaring myself as a martyr, when she said: "Embrace me, my beloveth, once again, before thou depart. Bequeath to me thy moonlight. I shalt devote to thee my hindmost cry. Thy bequest changeth seasons, Rain Falleth, hope is gone. Thy leaving is no sojourn. Lachrymose in widow's weeds, Grievous, I am burying my dreams of thee."
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