Slush Day
(a 7-5 Trochee)
Snow falls down; then comes the rain.
Wet flakes fall and drown
when that rain, like a refrain
once again comes down.
Then I step onto the street.
There's no snow to crush.
Mere shoes don't protect one's feet
from cold puddled slush!
For the "The Doesn't fit" Poetry Contest of Carol Eastman
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