Monday morning rain
on the first day of July.
The sun is soundly sleeping,
only grey clouds appear
in the morning sky.
The birds are chirping loudly,
the rain will not stop them sing,
Glasgow has woken,
for nature has spoken
as church bells no longer ring.
The overgrown weeds that
lap up and absorb the fresh tears
of the morning rain,
grow and expanded with no pain
for landscapers may never return for years.
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Author:
Daniel McDonagh (
Offline) - Published: October 15th, 2024 12:47
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 57
- Users favorite of this poem: Cheeky Missy
Offline)
Comments5
I have been to Scotland many times before and can feel the freshness of the mornings expressed so well in these lovely lines. Amazing stuff.
Beautiful poem!
The subtly haunting reality lurking at the edges of this poignant piece beg whither, answered by the birds' chirping replies, as the children from ages past mull returning to the land of their forefathers. Lovely and beautifully rendered. Thank you for sharing.
love this well written nice flow
well expressed keep writing
love the lines about the weeds absorbing the tears of the rain - what a lovely description...a bit sad, but liked the message
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