deepundergroundpoetry.com
The Storm
In the forests,
the woody ancients
bend their brittle spines,
creaking and cracking.
In the streets,
the masses
beneath their umbrellas
reach upwards suddenly,
as their protection
is plucked from them.
©Shelley Marie
the woody ancients
bend their brittle spines,
creaking and cracking.
In the streets,
the masses
beneath their umbrellas
reach upwards suddenly,
as their protection
is plucked from them.
©Shelley Marie
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