This was written in the morning after I wrote my first pandemic poem. For some reason, poetry keeps coming out as I write my morning pages. I have no idea way.
me, mike
Yesterday, I watched the rain
Drip, drip, drip, down the drain
And thought of the drowning of the dream
Today, the sun is out
And the sky is clear
Dew is on the ground, evaporating
Slowly, oh so slowly
And I wonder, today I wonder
Can the dream be saved?
Will we, instead of allowing it to drown,
Will we rise up and
Free the water
Free the dream from drowning?
Will we? We can.
But will we?