1d
There are days
when the fat
rain beats the
tent like a snare
drum.
Sleep is impossible,
a distant
memory from youth.
Beautiful flowers die,
and green isn't quite
green enough.
It turns to olive brown,
then black.
People don't behave
and we can't make them.
I hope there is
rest when it's all
said and done.
when the fat
rain beats the
tent like a snare
drum.
Sleep is impossible,
a distant
memory from youth.
Beautiful flowers die,
and green isn't quite
green enough.
It turns to olive brown,
then black.
People don't behave
and we can't make them.
I hope there is
rest when it's all
said and done.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wBAZoRBDD9k
Here is a link to my you tube channel where I read this poem and others from my recently published books, Sleep Always Calls, It's Just a Hop, Skip, and a Jump to the Madhouse and Sleep Always Calls. They are all available on Amazon.
Here is a link to my you tube channel where I read this poem and others from my recently published books, Sleep Always Calls, It's Just a Hop, Skip, and a Jump to the Madhouse and Sleep Always Calls. They are all available on Amazon.
