Friday Rain.
The café facing the busy street has big windows
I see umbrellas walking by, some of them stop,
fold wings, shake water off backs and enter.
I remember my childhood in black and grey when
umbrellas were stygian; and a lady
umbrella was a bit smaller, yet imp-like,
had frilly silk borders, but was sable too.
Rain shades are of all colures now.
cheerful a sharp breeze, they turn inside out and that’s ok;
it is the festive hues against
the inundation I like.
Vibrant swirls, searching a canvass of black
Creating a world of colures,
Taken from a gunnysack…
The mind explores all it observes,
There is no turning back~
Admirations, full of life deserved;
The portrait is complete, all concur,
Now how about that…
Vibrant swirls, searching a canvass of black
Creating a world of colures,
Taken from a gunnysack…
The mind explores all it observes,
There is no turning back~
Admirations, full of life deserved;
The portrait is complete, all concur,
Now how about that…