The rain’s pouring down,
and there is a sense of awe,
at this cool down pour.
I am writing verse,
some is good but most is not,
but to try is great.
The tune alludes me,
I sense it in minor chords,
that always sing well.
I’m slowly writing,
pondering over still words,
before they stagnate.
It is time to sleep,
lock up, lock down and bed down,
that is much better.
Out of sequence now, the days a blur re-occur, and making one weak.
