Submersion
Rain fell inexorably down,
filling every ginnel and spit
'til all was a blanket, a crown,
and naught projected up from it.
Beneath were clock towers and tall
surfaces, drifting with foam,
buildings once rife with activity
now silent, no longer a home
'cept for fishes and floating debris,
hives not humming with energy,
still as a grave.
Copyright © Keith Bickerstaffe | Year Posted 2016
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