The rain drops down,
Onto the dead man's ground.
Where poison plants grow,
And the living breathe slow.
To the earth made of bones
Where we all stand alone.
~Rain~
The rain drops down,
Onto the flowering ground.
Where the seedlings sprout,
And the dreams don't doubt.
To the roots that hold strong,
And the birds that sing their song.
YOU ARE READING
Windblown
Poetry"Where the birds take flight, and freedom sings..." 🌸 Thank you to @Letterbyowl for the lovely cover!
