in

My Climate

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Sun stole it from me

the morning had given it as gift

a few dew drops on the glade

and a pipe load of fresh cool air

as the day advanced

rays grew straighter

like arrows on a hunt

glowing with fire

they burnt holes

on the poor Earth

dew was long dried

so did the small

ponds and reservoirs

parching throats

and souls

to screams;

save me was the cry

no one in sight

only moon

could be banked upon

but then it came in

a stifled darkness

with no air

billowing around!

What do you think?

3 points
Legend

Written by Glower4

Glower is a writer cum poet who is a commoner endowed with uncanny gift of extreme and deep abstract thought resulting in astonishing written word.

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