washing hands
beneath a tap of drought
no running water
falls from this spout
pleading for the least
if only a drip
it’s dry in this desert
even a drop would provide
a most satisfying sip
that’s why I wait
that’s why I beg
but like your love,
rain is delivered
only, moments too late
About the Creator
Skylar Whitney
Introvert at heart. Lover of journaling, free-verse poetry, and poutine.
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