Poem of the Day #14- 7/7/17

Uncategorized 1 Minute

The asphalt gray reflection
In a puddle
Waivers with the ripples
From each drop of rain
And that face that looks back on me?
Is it weary of the rain?
Is it weary of the days
That have passed
From blue to gray?
Will these same eyes look back at me again
When the next rains come?
The ripples offer no answers.
The merely reverberate the edge
and they are gone.

Published by E.H. Decker

E.H. Decker is the name of a pen, like Mark Twain, not A.T. Cross. Said pen belongs to a father of two writing between jobs on movies, parenting and obsessing over movies, tv, music, wine and words. Comments here are encouraged so long as you can be respectful to others and you have actually taken the time to read what you're commenting on.

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