PARCHED BLUE MIDNIGHT, a poem

pluie-sur-la-fenetre

A drizzle, not wild rain
No drenching torrents
No puddles forming under
the palm and the birch
No soaking the dry brown earth
while I sit cozy inside
No squall, friend of solitude
to embrace the writing itch, just
a parched blue midnight
an effete sprinkle in the air
Nothing to stir the pen
or green the lawns

This must have been the poetic equivilant of a rain dance. Right after I wrote it we had a soaking downpour.

© 2016, poem, Jamie Dedes; photo courtesy of axelle b, PublicDomainPictures.net

 

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