Morning Walk

kasia derwinskaart

Grey mornings, the
leaves’ greenness
diminishes.
The strolling heart
does not saunter,
only stumbles.
Walked dogs
refuse to bite.
Curbs seem taller.
The rain that
isn’t falling
seems to soak
everything.
The Sunny Side
Of The Street
is only a
forgotten tune.
How the flowers
long to bloom;
how your eyes
seek in vain
for radiance.

Perhaps tomorrow.

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