wet run

Rain pounds in silver slashes.

I’m the wet beat of splashing feet.

As I race, tears slither down my face.

These soggy shoes, these shiver clothes

so full of sorrow, and the wind blows.

Streams of woe; clouds weep icy snow.

Where can I go?




Author: lyndaladret

Discovered writing stories and poems through Outlander and encouragement from Sam Heughan's MPC2016 program. My new hobby is photography! check out MPC2017.com to join the #BestGroupEver

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