In the gutter she sits.
It's raining again.
The drain is calling to the bobbing twig.
The twig that she snapped from the sapling.

She's so bored,mummy's at work again.
Now she's sitting in the rain.
Ripples at the flow with her cheap laced up shoes.
Her shoes all stained with salty water residue.
Kicking at the water.
She truly is her mother's daughter.
Stubborn to the rotten core.
Mother's job is not too pleasant.
She's a pheasant plucker.
She always works on rainy days.
Her daughter knows not what she does.
Mummy says it won't be long.
You know she needs the money.

She oughts go home.
But she'll still be alone.
The owl in the tree at roadside suggests she finds a towel.
Great notion, but little lassie can't speak owl.

The sky's wide open now.
It's pouring frown.
Releasing it's stress.
Wet shoes, wet skirt.
Sodden hair, soggy vest.
Supposes she really should go home.
Her hair's just a dripping mess.
Soggy tresses.

Time to go home little girl.
Mummy may be worried.
(c) Livvi