wet land the plinking, pinging of rain at night redounds the silence of memory's sight the liquid essence of cloud's release mirrors man's tears with no surcease the dripping, plopping in pools of rain gather together like puddles of pain moisture gathers in morning mist the fog of sadness's forlorn kiss dew rests softly in the morning sun brings no relief from midnight's run as water flows toward the sea a river of tears flow from me © 2014 ajwrites57 A Long
"Always be a poet, even in prose." ~ Charles Baudelaire