Watching the drops
Slipping, dripping, and flowing away,
watching the drops again today.
Wettened to the core by the storm,
soaked, sitting watching a puddle form.
All sides of the face and down the back,
in my boots the drops are stacked.
Wet socked and fully dressed in rain,
pondering if I will imagine ships again.
Battles played out in front to see,
the puddle transforming into a sea.
Missiles and torpedoes fired away,
pondering if that is feasible today.
Waiting for the rain to stop its pour,
yet the sky has a whole lot more.
Hours more of the drops to last,
no fishing rod for the puddle to cast.
No net to capture a fished meal,
cold and wet is how I now feel.
Sitting alone taking in the view,
watching the drops do what they do.
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Author:
Maplespal (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: February 12th, 2025 05:50
- Comment from author about the poem: Just a moment in time.
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 8
Offline)
Comments2
I love me a rain poem, any day; not so much the rain, for there are days Iād rather it stay away. šš»š
A beautiful natural picture painted in this poem but deeper lies a metaphor of a life under storm. Very nicely written
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