Under the clouds swollen
and the rain that feels abhorrent,
the wind blows and whirls and runs away
and doesn't care if you stay up late
till the moonlight strikes your face
and the chill creeps up your spine
till the dawn seems quite divine
Oh, tell me, Heathcliff, tell!
Why did you leave and make
such a living hell?
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Author:
dorothv (
Offline) - Published: July 12th, 2023 03:59
- Comment from author about the poem: inspired by Brontë's Wuthering Heights
- Category: Reflection
- Views: 1
Offline)
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