About to fall
You can smell it in the air
long before the pavement darkens
with each fat, slow drop.
Electricity sparks upon our flesh
as the wind gathers pace,
throwing lifeless leaves
into the hungry current
of a night lush with life.
Here it comes.....
here it is.....
awash with copper scents,
like blood on your lips,
the storm begins.
Together, yet somehow alone,
we embrace the rain
and slowly pull apart.
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Comments about this poem (About to fall by Viola Grey )
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
Mewlana Jalaluddin Rumi
(1207 - 1273)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
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