This afternoon
There are no dancing sun rays
Clouds having run themselves into
The ceiling of heaven
And bled the black of the night sky
Into the day
Gray surrounds like chimney smoke
And heavily cloaks
What should be the weightlessness of summer
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Author:
Lorna (
Offline) - Published: August 21st, 2025 15:29
- Category: Reflection
- Views: 3
- Users favorite of this poem: sorenbarrett
Offline)
Comments1
A fave for such inventife images that paint the picture
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