Storm

Grey clouds gather, rippled,
fringed across the hem of sky,

ruched in certain order, stitched
in darkening threads,

so they burst ephemeral,
crouched against light’s death;

billowed, skirting, ruffled,
searching for a place to die.

Advertisements

About rosross

Editor, writer, poet.
This entry was posted in Uncategorized. Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s