The raindrop gently falls but once it’s caught
in leaves and grass, his tethered fears, a hymn
for spring has faded when the bloom has got
its sip, he waits for sun when light goes dim.
Beneath a shroud of clouds in frigid shade.
when through the garden flees, his shadow goes
in search of shelter from what’s wet, a glade
forgotten, where the hidden sunshine flows.
A place where grass is warm and where she lies
his doe and unborn fawn, not this headstone
wet from nature’s tears, this breeze that dies
in watered woodlands or the screaming tone
of braking wheels that touched her distant lawns
cause when she crossed the road the spring was gone.
Today I have the mini-challenge at toads, and want you to write a boute-rime. That means a poem that has given end-rhymes in the order prescribed by me. Hope you can join me in this challenge. The words provided a little challenge, but when I looked out through my window and let my thought wander into the our rain-wet garden. I link this to Poetry Pantry tomorrow as well.
May 30, 2015