Poem #2

The air is a fine mist of rain,

Like breathing underwater.

It relieves my lungs of all strain,

Taking deep breaths in and out.

There is a faint breeze today,

The branches teeter-totter.

The sky is a dullish grey,

Nothing living is about.

New spring leaves already falling,

Leaving home like old daughters.

None of the spring birds are calling,

Even they are left with doubt.

Certainly it’s not spring yet,

There is not a sign nor clue.

Is there a way we’d forget,

All the things that spring feels like.

Maybe our calendar was cut,

Or we skipped a month or two?

This isn’t really open-shut,

It’s like a wandering hike.

To be able to hike’s nice,

If only, this I could do.

Right now the ground is a vice,

Thick mud ’cause of the rain spike.

A little sunshine could make dry,

A way for me to pass through.

Much more of this and I will die,

I want to walk, run, swim, and bike.

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