A warm steady rain. The dust all washed away, the tea made, the earth peeled and set out upon a plate, this world is the perfect meal for every child who comes to play.
“Please stay.”
But they do not. Nor can we.
She folds the cloth. Sets the seal. Ends the day.
December 20, 2020
.
[ 962 ]
Categories: New Poems & Pieces
Tags: Aging, Childhood, Death, Diaries, Earth, Poems, Poetry, Rain, Winter
William Michaelian 