Artwork by Art AI Gallery
Anatomy of a Storm-Weathered Quaint Town
1. In eerily muddled prescient thoughts of an eventual doom,
flipping a coin, expecting the wrong side, we barricade the
windows, against a lashing undue storm, and on the edge of land
hope for, just hope for, sunshine.
2. Together, under warm lavender-colored covers, we watch
jingling leaves barely clinging to discordant branches.
On the foot of our disheveled home,
tides nibble, light leans for a look inside, but wind
slaps the windowpane shut.
3. Today, there's a thin film of paltry ice, like alms with half-
a-mind, we gauge how long our provisions will last, and dwell on the use
of our tattered woolens, and whether the sum of our perennial
woes will find burrows.
4. Difficult days are done, grass, knee-high, held by long summer
-y days like cow chewing cud, heat like skittering errant kids
waiting for mum to call them back, then we're praying, praying again, for
an indulgent rain.