adventures in dysthymia

Sunday, December 02, 2018

Raindrops, a poem

Raindrops

I can not count the raindrops
but know they have a number;
they sang upon my rooftop
as I fell into slumber,
and each told me its name,
each whispered and was gone,
with all of night time's dreams
forgotten in the dawn.

Stephen Brooke ©2018


This is one of those pieces that I sat and looked at for some time, trying to decide whether I should add more. But there was really nothing to add.

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