you’d think raindrops would tire
all night, stampeding over the roof
with hard grunts as they hit the ground
yet, they still pour from the sky like restless children
recessed on a Friday afternoon
sunrise remains asleep under a blanket of clouds
and the dog’s stay curled in tight warm apostrophes on the bed
and my tea tastes more like an old river today
and the world hangs its head
not in sadness but surrender
Comments