Warm spit invades freezing rains
Grey smoke infiltrates green trees
Recessed footprint seeps granulated sands
Pebbly glass scratches smooth stones
Fishing lures ***** serene lakes
Open whistling pierces hushed nights
Beaten paths pervades unwearied prairies
Shaded glasses filters generous daylights
Woolen cloaks stall numb winters
Processed food punctures clogged arteries
the flowers bend to the man
Granola pattering between my teeth.
Rain crunching beneath my feet.
Wait a minute...
Was that what it ought to be?
Quietly mind you. Not the rain. Me.
— The End —