Time is a mysterious thing. It always seems to me like just yesterday that Principal Daly left us.
FOR PATRICK DALY, PRINCIPAL*
Listen to the rain
Wash away the pain
Listen to the rain
Wash away the pain
Drip drop Drip drop
Rain and pain will never stop
Drip drop Drip drop
Pain and rain will always stop
High in the half-lit sky
the Maker opens Her wings
and the water flows down
Down it falls on tan, painted bricks
and on red, baked ones and
on sprawling graffiti
and torn-up sidewalks
On umbrellas old and withered
and on stolen cars
with gold, spindly hubcaps
and elevated rear-ends
pounding with rhythm,
On fading murals
and upon the Spot
Headlights gleam
and make their way
through the dull shower
But the spot
is still a hallowed place
A silvery ghost or
an aura that marks the blot
Where the Principal, Patrick Daly,
died in vain
or in heroism
or simply in the gentle rain
or simply in the gentle rain
The postwoman makes her way
across the spot
Children run and skip
through it
Baby strollers glide
over it
And dogs dive
on top of it
A tree is planted
upon it/the spot
And all the water
from the vast and cloudy sky
Fills the hole in the earth
where the tree stands
with water and more pain
Up sprout weeds of all kinds
Those that strangle sidewalks
and those with purple flowers
and those that stink
and in the middle
Sprouts a single tulip
with lips so red
and a center so bright
that it glows in the rain
and lights up the sky
Blooming and standing so tall
in a sea of grey
til a frolicking, foolish child
picks it for Mama
Listen to the rain
Wash away the pain
Listen to the rain
Wash away the pain
Drip drop Drip drop
Pain and rain will never stop
Drip drop Drip drop
Rain and pain will always stop
