Sunday, October 21, 2012

Here it comes

Here comes the rain
From the pipettes and burettes of brain
It descends down into a puddle
Neatly arraigned lines of muddle.
Boiling essence in the fresh drops
and any excesses a stern eye crops.
The shoreline is far from this middle
Even crocodiles have to only wriggle
Birds flying high in a self help book
Have to fold their wings to have a re-look
No image of the sky is possible in this mud
Everything hanging above falls in with a thud
To a primordial soup that everything boils down
Longer and longer the eyebrow stretches in frown.

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