Morning, From the Hill At the Little Stoke Turning
Streetlight buttercups
Cluster in the big city cloud.
Morning hungry bear, a great grey sloucher,
Frowning at the houses, scratches at the walls.
A plague of raindrops plunges down,
Cruel and malevolent, pecking at people and cars.
Out of the misty dampness, umbrellas grow quickly,
And small children float by.
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
