The Evangelical and the Skeptic
Soft air, fresh gusts from the south
Twist and turn the leaves silver.
Walter says, "rain." I say, "maybe."
It rains, he feels vindicated.
It does not rain, he says,
"The exception proves the rule."
I say, "maybe."
Poetry by jim
Read 252 times
Written on 2015-06-12 at 16:21
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