deepundergroundpoetry.com

Smoke on Sunday

It’s all ceremone.
I smooth the table linens and pluck the fallen leaf of my maidenhair fern from the windows sill.
The mountainous view to the west is the clouded over with promises of a wet afternoon.
Maybe they will all leave early in effort to beat out the storm, I think hopefully.
It’s just about time to put the rolls in.
Written by Self_helpDarling
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