I want to wake up with the rain falling on a tin roof. <br />I want to wake up next to you lying softly by my shoulder. <br />Then, while listening to the soft metal’s gently ringing, <br />I would gently wake you with a shower of kisses <br />and words of love so soft and safe that you would awaken <br />to the joy that love is incarnate, and she is holding you tightly. <br /> <br />I want to wake up with the rain falling on a tin roof. <br />I want to wake up from a great thunderstorm of lightning, <br />and the kind of hard rain that sounds like thunder itself as the old tin roof <br />buckles and warps, playing a chorus of moaning in its defense. <br />Then, in the dark of the storm, we would huddle as the candles flicker, <br />and we would cling closely to the fire and proudly remember the revolution. <br /> <br />I want to wake up with the rain falling on a tin roof. <br />And I don’t want to have any memory of pain or tears; <br />and I don’t want to hear of death or pestilence or horror; <br />and I don’t want to be told of hate or how the Pope died, <br />and I don’t want to be told about how my mother didn’t love me <br />or how the belt felt when I was hit. I want to wake up happy. <br />I want to wake up with the rain falling on a tin roof.<br /><br />Sandra Osborne<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/thinking-of-the-old-farmhouse/
