Wednesday, December 2, 2015

Rain on the River Valley

There is a downy silvered fog at the window early this morning
I find it wrapped around the meadow below
Here a raindrop, there a half-frozen toad on the slate steps
Only a few weeks ago I would lie still in the summer's ivy
With bumblebee's drawing too close and then humming away indignant at their mistake
I am not quite their wildflower
But if I were
I would lilt and unfurl in the heavy misted morning
Dripping the sky
Laughing all in color against the gray
Eyes wide open


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