NaPoWriMo, poetry, writing

Washed Clean

The heavens spill forth across the land,

The lake’s glass surface ruptures in turmoil

As the sky moans and strikes out in pain.

Loud and disturbing, but calming as well,

For it washes clean the pollen and grunge

And renews the grass and flowers alike.

Slowly the storm recedes, the sky returns blue

And winged creatures take flight once more.

April 30, 2022 – DRM

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