Morning all day
furrowed in grey
Under the weather,
scents of wet leather,
splashing in puddles getting the mail.
Slapping drops smack-
in an aerial attack
stinging flesh of face
in which We are Out of place
amidst hurling whetted hail.
Sullen skies abide,
concrete curtains hide
the radiant sun,
sharing warmth with none-
displaced by mist and gale.
Trumpets pipe passing by
panes, whistling on windows, leaves fly-
blurred in the forgotten hour,
fixed and framed in a seasonal shower,
setting the stage for a winters' tale.
Image photo by Terry Korte via Wikimedia Commons (Public Domain), 2006
