sweet pea // amos lee
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I can hear it rain
outside my window.
I listen to the pitter-patter
from the tiny droplets
racing down my window.
My mother starts
an old Beatles record
from the living room.
I feel dad's
breath of excitement.
I say goodbye to the raindrops
and a waft of coffee
tickles my nose.
Mom and dad are dancing
to Something.
"Amelia!" They both shout happily, seeing me.
They swing over towards me,
dad grabs my hand,
and the three of us sashay and spin
around
the living room.
YOU ARE READING
twelve tracks
Poetry“And those who were seen dancing were thought to be insane by those who could not hear the music.” ― Friedrich Nietzsche /// (c) mockingjayde 2013 (c) respective artists and musicians.
