A gray rain
is slinking down
the sunken crown
of alley lane.
Green-topped church,
I bid goodbye
to your broad thigh,
a mourning perch.
I'll miss the stone
that frames this view
of moon, a bitten scone
against night's broken brew -
you were a hardy bone
that braked my raving blues.
Apr 13, 2019
Apr 13, 2019 at 12:46 AM UTC
A gray rain
is slinking down
the sunken crown
of alley lane.
Green-topped church,
I bid goodbye
to your broad thigh,
a mourning perch.
I'll miss the stone
that frames this view
of moon, a bitten scone
against night's broken brew -
you were a hardy bone
that braked my raving blues.
