Our Last Postscript
How sullen can farewell inscribe
The words untamed, the rain a bribe
Like ink of hours upon our last postscript
Which tumbled down softly and quickly dripped.
Clearly now in the dimming afterglow,
When the pale night breezes start to blow
I know for sure , the thing I really miss…
The purest fervor of your windblown kiss.
10.14.2018
A Poem Written in Iambic Pentameter Contest
Sponsored by Janice Canerdy
End rhymes checked www.rhymezome.com/em>
Copyright © Nette Onclaud | Year Posted 2016
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