We rode bicycles down Hijili Road swept by rain. It was that season when young men take to wing. It is that day today, my friend, to account for gain And loss again. In which column goes this thing: Emptiness felt as pain? My eyes watch the pane Beyond which an anoraked postman is walking, In the distance, up and down this foreign lane. Will you send letters that remind me of talking All night? That remind me of how we both ached
For transcendence, as trains snaked underneath
A copula of fireflies, stars? No! These many breached Years won’t allow you rush in, your head beneath A wet newspaper, to tell me where you have been. No! Nor can I tell you all the horrors I have seen.

Notes: The rhyme scheme has been figured out:ababcdcdefefgg. Now it's time to understand iambic meter.