...The story of a girl in London, England


Sonnet 37


The pavement glistens black and white below—

A glossy sheen that hops beneath the rain.

The headlights make the droplets pop and glow.

Distracted, drifting, listing lane to lane,

My eyes begin to strain and pull and weigh

And so they droop until they’re nearly closed.

The rain, my roof, percussing all the way.

And yet I make it home, and start to doze.

I dream of drummers drilling in the trees.

I drift among the rivers in the road.

The pitter patter sound of mice’s feet.

The lull of running water, rain, and snow.

Of course it’s no surprise that when I wake

I move with haste, much for my bladder’s sake.

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