poetry: Good Morning

let the soft rain fall, kicking up the dust

— — -as the mourning settles in

and the birds call

— — -from deep within the whispering aspen trees

gliding slowly through the flickering shadows

— — -on whispered need

or peeking slyly from the brush beneath

— — -the wild and thorny rose

quilling in the quails nest

— — -overgrown with trembling weeds

sitting in the echoed revery

— — -of the empty old clay flower pot

01/2021