Again the white whisper
flew down the mountains,
tiptoed across the riverbanks,
removing the clouds’ curtains.
“Look at the waving branches”,
chanted the magic spell,
opened their alluring arms,
echoed with the church bell.

Again I wore hypnotics,
and surrendered my burdens to the sky,
felt the pearl droplets
on my blurry eyes that looked too high.
I welcomed the rain,
like a tranced soul,
yet again it wrote the poetry,
yet again it drenched me whole!

GREG RAKOZY xxxx xxxxx

 

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