A drop of rain, and then sheets and sheets.
They were whipped away before they fell,
The wind stole them
To take away to another place.
But it wasn't strong enough.
It isn't, you know.
I told it so, the other day, outside.
It laughed at me,
Imp of a girl, giving it advice.
But under the scornful howl of storms I heard
A miniscule sigh
Barely audible,
But I heard it.
And then, upset with me
For hearing what he hadn't meant to say,
He fled.
The clouds stayed behind.
He forgot to take them along.
They hung about, dejected and pale grey,
All the rest of the afternoon.
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4 comments:
imagery much better than the previous wich i think has way too many superfluous sentences which sort of loosens the picture.this one is taut.
i'm goin back to this kind of thing..it's my province
it is
so much about rain. this way you personify the stormy wind, i'm sure it's embarrassed plenty... some gruff old god is looking away, abashed.
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