Thursday, October 27, 2011

A Poem Draft


Little children, tips of leaves
are dripping with the raindrops sweet
that drop yet from eternity
with sounds like little marching feet
that tap a patter, pat a beat;
so always when the gray sky grieves
percussive patterns interweave
its weeping teardrops falling free,
a rhythmic water-tapestry,
threaded, loomed, and tied up neat.

1 comment:

  1. Brigitte1:03 PM

    After such a rain, those raindrops hanging from the clothes line in the backyard are "the string of heavenly pearls" delighting eye and soul.  Your images of "the grieving, gray sky" and "a rhythmic water-tapestry" are as enchanting as well.


Please understand that this weblog runs on a third-party comment system, not on Blogger's comment system. If you have come by way of a mobile device and can see this message, you may have landed on the Blogger comment page, or the third party commenting system has not yet completely loaded; your comments will only be shown on this page and not on the page most people will see, and it is much more likely that your comment will be missed.