rain tapping on my hood
as calming soporific
as the fire
that flutters in the grate
mind unfocused soul adrift
stopped still
on a cold and rainy day
knowing we will die
it is as the poet said
death is the mother of beauty
an enigma at a younger age
a mystery no more
vaxed and masked
waiting here awhile
among the small astonishments.
 |
| Bluets |
