Drizzle in the air, during a November day.
It makes you want to stay in the house.
The cold prickles your skin.
The day is ticking past, you delve into the biscuit tin.
Hours, minutes and seconds roll by,
as the rain clouds sweep the sky.
The time has no meaning for the weather,
it comes and goes.
The clouds roll across the valleys, it rains on the Earth.
The sun disappears behind the clouds.
The noises of life are blended in,
these noises are still heard.
As it waters the plants, the foliage grows.
When it rains, the flowers project their scents.
Grey skies paint the flowers dull,
till the rain eases to a lull.
Pitter-patter raindrops, from the grey blanket.
It looms overhead.
Then it all stops.
© Copyright 2020 The Coffee Poet
, All rights Reserved. Written For: The Coffee Poet