Rain drums hard the tiled roofs,
the rough gravel of the ground,
the trees now forlorn dark
in the evening gloom.
Rain makes big puddles,
grows them into pools,
connects them with
fast-flowing rivulets,
like a child at play;
and like a child, absorbed,
it continues until suddenly
bored it will cease.
17.07.2024
#Poem #Poems #Poetry #Verse Verse Poetry Poems Poem
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