The streets are lined with tissue scraps,
sneezes, coughs and commn colds.
The things not shown on Google Maps,
the mushrooms, rubbish, moss and mold.
Umbrellas float on seas of smog,
as drizzle peppers all in sight.
A pigeon shrouded in the fog
spreads its wings in forlorn flight
And drifts among the drifts and drops
as dribbles drain into the night,
until the rain clouds slow and stop;
the clouds make way, and there is light.
(what am i doing rhymes why)
YOU ARE READING
Poem dump
PoetryA bunch of poems about things. Sometimes sciency things, because I sure love SCIENCE.
