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The wind pipes high and low
Hailstones play the snare drum
Sometimes the cymbals clash
Or else the bass drum drones.
I lean on the windowsill
Beside a bottle of gin
To look at the fluttering trees
And the swelling sea
And improve my autograph
On the misted panes
Franklin Uchenna
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Breathtaking.
Imagery, flow, emotion through action... I love it. It's serene, and i'm there where you are, writing out your name in cursive, then looking at it critically then writing it again. The rain sounding like a band, i totally get it. my favorite is the trees fluttering.
Please, keep writing.
