Trace her paths of past steps,
As she scurries, collects, attempts to gather,
Odd items needing dryness, like laundry just lathered.
Polished winches beading with water,
Look good now- like crap latter,
Drops exploding off nearby varnish,
Further aid in their liquid tarnish.
A former breeze now winds and gusty
Carry scents of trees all wet and musty
Blowing drops in odd angled falling,
Better close the skylights on this calling.
Drops to dribbles, streaming off covers,
Collecting in pools, then exit deck scuppers,
Falling now in sheets, it won't be long I think,
To time the next lull, then run out- bail the dink.
Listening to drops in waves of tapping,
Like a million tiny hands of random clapping
Something suddenly catches me in wonder,
Hmmm- How close was that thunder?
All are signs of little wonder,
Of one fine day to stay tucked down under
Hatches slid closed, safe down below
A glass of wine, a good book, and watching for mold.
----
Ok- so it might need a little work.
I'm also trying my hand at a song.
It's titled: "Hey, You, Get Offa My Rail! "
(sung to the little kid leaning against the boat and wildly swinging around a big ugly stick) (Ooo- That could have been bad)
4 comments:
That was a really haiku
Hmmm, I thought haiku was a 3 line 575 arrangement thing.
There's probably more than one type tho. Not sure who I was channeling that day, but it is what it is and I still get paid the same.
Wait a minute... NO I DON'T!
You're being paid in EXPERIENCE.
If only we all could be paid so well... even in the rain!
Maybe in my next life?
I enjoyed the prose, whatever it is.
:)
OK fine. That was a really high coup.
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