there are times
the sound of the rain
becomes a never ending lament
the cold saturates my frame
spreads chills into my marrow
the feeling of not knowing
what tomorrow holds
weights down as
the threaded beads of rain
eroding the scanty soil

there are times
the sound of the rain
becomes a never ending lament
the cold saturates my frame
spreads chills into my marrow
the feeling of not knowing
what tomorrow holds
weights down as
the threaded beads of rain
eroding the scanty soil
❤️
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