Her Sun
one drip
one drop
then another
and another and another and another...
drenched in an already muddied field
no regrets or acts of contrition
no matter how contrite
the skies are angry now
as their mother, in silence, weeps
"bring down your helpless
your shrewn out misery"
allow the flowers to seep up those grazing wounds
and those grieving minds
for in the morning the sun will rise
and breathe her ever giving light
Copyright © Ts Poetry | Year Posted 2022
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