On Monday, rain fell without care,
dotting every leaf
and drowning every shoe.
Wet hair clung to cold faces,
trembling hands hid in musty pockets.
Kids ran to cars, teens skulked
under shelters with the spiders,
and trees threw open their arms
to embraced the fall.
Leaves quivered with euphoria as twisted roots drunk deeply of their gift.
No rain fell on Tuesday,
save for those grey droplets
that fall from houses and sign posts.
People drifted half-heartedly
through the autumn haze,
while trees smiled,
satisfied.
YOU ARE READING
yellow paper
PoesíaYet another collection of poems, these written in 2019. Confessional, emotional, and irrational styles. Feel free to comment or message me.
