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 2023
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
I’m wondering if I was unconsciously thinking of human imperfection being hidden? Hadn’t thought of that before but maybe I was.
Thank you for reading, commenting and giving me another perspective
on things. 🙂 sue.
Thank you for the pick, it’s very much appreciated.