Tuesday, November 4, 2014



The rain was cold and jaded,
reflective of my mood,
that spark of joy not satisfied;
grey the sun did burn.

There was no way of standing,
which kept me truly dry,
and so we wept in unison;
nothing brought a smile.

There was in chilled ablution,
a cleansing of the soul,
washing through of misery;
the heavens made me whole.


About rosross

Editor, writer, poet.
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