The wind plays in the accordion
branches. An icy rain pelts the road.
The seed rattles in its pod
the only mantra that it knows.
In response to an entry from the Morning Porch.
Purveyors of fine poetry since 2003.
Purveyors of fine poetry since 2003.
The wind plays in the accordion
branches. An icy rain pelts the road.
The seed rattles in its pod
the only mantra that it knows.
In response to an entry from the Morning Porch.
Beautiful.