The Rush...
Through the opened orifice
of humanities consciousness,
the whirling, whirring, rush of rain;
tumults round the asphalts plane.
Spritzing, spreading, shrieking, zing…
the staccato sounds of wet spring;
the tinkling chimes, the brass banter
the clop of clogs, children canter.
All the sizzle of an oiled pan.
All the sparkle of dew on land.
All pummeled, a peonies pain,
the soundless swirl petals, drain.
Copyright © Debbie Guzzi | Year Posted 2009
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