A Year Older and Looking Out From the Nursing Home WindowBefore it brings the storm
Wind scattering plastic bags,
Skittering across the ground
Like broken birthday balloons . . .
A can is lifting and rolling,
Tinny hollow dents of sound
As if kicked by someone hiding,
Perhaps the child once you . . .
Maple wings flying and falling,
Pine cones fluttering like birds,
Leaves stumble and then run
And you're walking on trees . . .
Waiting to play in the rain again.
Poetry by countryfog
Read 558 times
Written on 2011-04-28 at 19:12
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