Aftermath
The wind makes it snow
From leftover
In the trees
Pockets turned inside out
Emptied
Of confetti
More often, Lord, I pray
After the parade
Has passed
Born with envy
These days I sleep and sweep
The streets
With my own dreamy
Broom
And umbrella.
Copyright © Robert Trezise Jr. | Year Posted 2022
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem.
Please
Login
to post a comment