Rainy Day.

 


Rain whispers through the trees

polishing each glistening leaf

casting a light veil

across all imperfection,

falling upon the palms of

thirsting grass, where

every bloom has raised its face

to catch each perfect drop.

 

 

© sweetwater 2021
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Ifyouplease

where’s the imperfection, I thought, in all this… even a leaf is perfect in its own unique way, then, I thought, it could be something else that makes everything imperfect, the observer.

very good poem, thanks for sharing

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