rain showers chill in the quiet early morn
but the howling winds excited gather
for thunderous din upon the roofs of tin
mighty drops of glass down crash boom
they’d hoped to sail their own crystal sea
but all that’s left are the sorry puddles
where the tiny children stomp and play
and to add insult to this hopeless day,
when the sun awakens from its daily nap
not even the river of dark forgetfulness
remembers to forget their torrential tears
Copyright © 2018 Stacey Harris