Apr 27, 2021
1 min read
DAY 27 PROMPT
Toxic Little Cloud
A sonnet
In fields of freshly cut grass, unaware,
On a plaid wool blanket, here on a whim.
Holding back from the eyes their wind blown hair,
Pointing their fingers at any but him.
Downward faces of breathtaking beauty,
Tall mountains, grotesque grandiosity,
She’s riding an…
