A Shy Sullied Sun
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The sound of drip, drip, dripping drops of rain,
drum pitter-patter patterns on my brain.
And I slowly start slip-sliding past sane;
as endless dripping drops drive me insane.
For many miserable months, it pours
and a dank depression drains me of hope.
My misery manifests as bedsores;
deprived of sunlight, I am forced to cope.
It's a moody, melancholy Monday,
another awful, rotten, rainy day.
And that rat-a-tat-tat sound slams away
like monsoon madness on constant replay.
Fast-flowing flash floods gobble up farmland;
as this wretched weather gets out of hand.
Then, a shy, sullied sun shines; clouds disband,
and suddenly, sweet silence sounds so grand.
Copyright © Emile Pinet | Year Posted 2018
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