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Array ( [sid] => 98029 [catid] => 1 [aid] => mick [title] => Summer Rain [time] => 2005-06-14 14:35:19 [hometext] => [bodytext] => Dampness seeps into every pore and corner like summer sweat
Windows stick in their casings and refuse to budge
Fans whirl lazily in the breeze asking for electricity
I put my sweater on and tuck my feet under me
Having sought my favorite chair in a quiet corner
Nobody else ever sits here, I wonder why
It has good light for reading, an open window
A comfortable worn out chair you can put your feet on
And a table for a cup of tea or books
It seems a perfect eden to me
Where I can daydream endlessly
Or at least until I’m disturbed by some necessity
Rain taps at the window as if to taunt and tease
Come outside and play with me
You’re not made of sugar and spice
You’ll not melt from my gentle kiss upon your cheek
Still I refrain from such soggy games
Preferring to sip my tea and write poetry
Comforted by the words and meanings
Familiar pen scratching its song on paper
It flows like a black river from line to line
Never mind the spelling now as I scratch out a word
The phone rings and I pretend for a moment it’s you
Then smiling I answer…..
It’s a telemarketer, of course it was never going to be you
[comments] => 0 [counter] => 179 [topic] => 21 [informant] => merry [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 5 [ratings] => 1 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => Lifepoems )

Summer Rain

Contributed by merry on Tuesday, 14th June 2005 @ 02:35:19 PM in AEST
Topic: Lifepoems

Dampness seeps into every pore and corner like summer sweat
Windows stick in their casings and refuse to budge
Fans whirl lazily in the breeze asking for electricity
I put my sweater on and tuck my feet under me
Having sought my favorite chair in a quiet corner
Nobody else ever sits here, I wonder why
It has good light for reading, an open window
A comfortable worn out chair you can put your feet on
And a table for a cup of tea or books
It seems a perfect eden to me
Where I can daydream endlessly
Or at least until I’m disturbed by some necessity
Rain taps at the window as if to taunt and tease
Come outside and play with me
You’re not made of sugar and spice
You’ll not melt from my gentle kiss upon your cheek
Still I refrain from such soggy games
Preferring to sip my tea and write poetry
Comforted by the words and meanings
Familiar pen scratching its song on paper
It flows like a black river from line to line
Never mind the spelling now as I scratch out a word
The phone rings and I pretend for a moment it’s you
Then smiling I answer…..
It’s a telemarketer, of course it was never going to be you

Copyright Â© merry ... [ 2005-06-14 14:35:19]
(Date/Time posted on site)

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