light is spilling through the clouds,
and the whippoorwill wind is getting louder;
a storm is coming.
I can see the line of rainfall
blurring the trees across the way.
the dark is rising,
and my shoes are untied.
Untitled Poem #-17
Posted: March 6, 1992 in PoetryTags: Clouds, Dark, Light, Rain, Shoes, Storm, Trees, Wind
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