Rain Poem by Vida Nenadic
Rain
Rain remains in my hair.
I feel it on my skin.
Its drops are on the edges
of my eye lashes.
I am leaving the ponds
behind my steps,
while walking thirsty
on the streets of London.
I could not care less
to take, just in case,
the nicely packed umbrella
of golden colour
in the pocket of my rucksack.
Vida Nenadic
Sunday, August 17, 2008
Topic(s) of this poem: RAIN
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4/19/2024 10:08:14 PM # 1.0.0.1119
