DPF / Cummings

For, finally, the rain on our drought, and the poem it leads me to each time, from poets.org. The rest of the poem may be found here:

from somewhere i have never travelled,gladly beyond / by e.e. cummings (18941962)

(i do not know what it is about you that closes
and opens;only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
nobody,not even the rain,has such small hands

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