The Metamorph ~ Voyages of a Ship Named Heart

The Metamorph lays in bed
Listening to the rain . . .
She likes the staccato of rain
Pounding on a tin roof
Yeah
She remembers it from her childhood

She remembers watching rain
Falling in sheets
The stroboscopic patterns of rain falling
on the standing waters of the parking lot
Watching rain cling to barren branches
In winter mist
Trees so dark and stark
Like frozen lightning forking up from the Earth

She turns under the covers
Mumbles something not unlike a song fragment
And quietly drifts off into dreams of Love
Under a sky that doesn’t change

Published by

Chyfrin the Celtic poet

Artist, Poet, Electrical/Biomedical Engineer, Actor, Playwright, Set construction, Educator, Lover of womankind and single malt scotch

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