Rain trills down my window pain
like a scoop of ice cream in the hand
of a three year old on a hot August day.
Clear drops gather on grey branches
as kindergartners do in lunch lines.
Dinosaurs drool in the moist, crisp air.
Dreams are puddles mixed with mud.
Mud encrusts the soles of boots and basements.
Days become weeks.
Weeks become years peering,
searching
through clouded mind and flooded streets
for a clearing.
Angelina's Garden 
Wonderful photo and poem combination and the line that stands out to me is “Dreams become puddles mixed with mud.”
LikeLiked by 1 person
So much fun!
*Jimmy Harris* President Harris Communications http://www.clearonhold.com 706.886.4321
706.491.6340 (c)
On Tue, Feb 25, 2020 at 11:41 PM Angelina’s Garden wrote:
> Angelina posted: ” Rain trills down my window pain like a scoop of ice > cream in the hand of a three year old on a hot August day. Clear drops > gather on grey branches as kindergartners do in lunch lines. Dinosaurs > drool in the moist, crisp air. Drea” >
LikeLiked by 1 person
Yeah! Dinosaurs drool around here all the time! Thanks for reading.
LikeLike
I’m glad you had a photo for “dinosaurs drool”…I was trying to figure out the metaphor! You’ve given a great description of winter woes. I hope you use your poem if you have to teach similes!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you for reading! I couldn’t resist writing about the dinosaur once I’d seen him out in our yard a couple of weeks ago!
LikeLiked by 1 person