It’s raining
The clouds are dark
And we are huddled together
Listening to the sounds out there
All is calm, all is good
The cold wind
Which had made the rain
A companion; drives wildly
Not a cricket could be heard
How awful, me thinks
The Whistling Pines wine outside
They never been too cold
Aa the rains tempo increased
The lamp fire swerves around
Like a confused bull in a ring
A shivering leg, a poem sung
Natures ways still strange
A lightning, and the Cloud grumble
Another and a clear picture of a tree stood out
More tappings out there
A yawn from the neighbors
My dancing lamp fire
The cold night drizzling
Singing trees, and the lightning
A happy pen waltzing away
Frankly, all plays my fancy
And soon, I shall lay my body
Discover more from Oke’s Musings: Poetry, People and Places
Subscribe to get the latest posts sent to your email.
