"Rain is a friend to the strong," said the poet.

"No, rain is rain," said the philosopher. "Nature is as nature intends."

The strong can let go in the rain.

The strong can cry in the rain - no one will ever know.

No one will ever know the secrets hidden behind the storm.

Take a piss in the rain, bloodshot eyes from sadness, a frown in the downpour; they will still think it's just a rainy day.

Before the philosopher could finish, the poet spoke:

"And I know I can be an optimistic, joyful fool. What else is better?"

"I am that I am," said the philosopher, after a dignified pause.

The rain, with a careless energy, said, "It's okay not to have the answers. But the universe is full of wonder, and grace enough to give life to a dying butterfly."

"What a thought," said the philosopher. "What more can you say to the poet and me when both are grieving for a lost soul?"

With an assured laugh, the rain replied, "All is vanity."

"I thought I comprehended life," said the philosopher.

"And I thought life is what you make it," said the poet.

And the rain said, "It all gets washed away - with no importance or memory in the end."