Park and Hide
Again drawn to the green
I smell the rain of yesterday,
the brook flows swiftly
thoughts feel tidal
furious and fast,
playing imaginary poo sticks
with a thought I need to think,
approaching the bridge,
I don't go to the other side,
a bird peeps loudly, regularly,
I take it as a warning,
my thoughts collide as it stops.
Poetry by shells
Read 841 times
Written on 2016-04-13 at 00:25




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