Poor old Bill

Pitter patter on the window
is that the rain
or the man in a black cloak
tapping for attention
is that the wind blowing in the trees
or the man in a black cloak
whistling at me
is he coming for me
is it my time
is it my turn
dawn breaks
the doctor calls next door
poor old Bill
and I never said goodbye



Poetry by JohnJohn
Read 871 times
Written on 2015-07-13 at 14:26

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Jamsbo Rockda The PoetBay support member heart!
Oh dear. I would move address to get away from him :)
2015-07-16