Like the last teardrops
from grief’s glassy eye,
droplets roll across velvet leaves
teetering, falling…
-
The wind sighs softly,
curling ringlets of steam
like morning mist:
rising, fading…
-
Grass glistens in the aftermath,
once more alive with hoppers
and the wings of dragonflies
chirping, buzzing…
-
But changed somehow,
in the storm’s aftermath
of leaf litter and limbs:
the broken…the beaten…
-
Yet sunbeams peek through
the remnant storm clouds,
the last of summer’s day:
waiting…hoping…
About the Creator
R.C. McLeod
I am a YA-speculative fiction writer with a focus in sci-fi/fantasy. Writing has always been a passionate passtime for me, and has grown into my adult aspirations. For more about me, visit my personal site at www.rcmcleod.home.blog.
Enjoyed the story? Support the Creator.
Subscribe for free to receive all their stories in your feed. You could also become a paid subscriber, letting them know you appreciate their work.
Comments
There are no comments for this story
Be the first to respond and start the conversation.