Grey Rain



Something moves
Out in the fields of Night
Without a sound
Thought, dissolves into nothingness
In a coat made of rain
Grey trees whispering
'Forever Night wakes to be'
In patterns of the grain
No one listening
She touches you so silently j




Poetry by Chaucer Whethers The PoetBay support member heart!
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Written on 2017-08-28 at 03:24

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