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The Looking Glass
July 3, 2024
Last night, I was awoken from my slumber
By the roar of the rain trying to muster it's thunder
And with the footsteps of a Sasquatch
I eased out of bed to watch
the tears pour like an angry parade
raging nature, so raw in lieu of being man made
looking with curiosity in the gleam of my eye
I played, with my senses, a game of I spy.
A droplet there, the rushing creek here.
But now it's tomorrow and now I do fear
it's a dry, silent night for the leaves and the grass,
and I will not awake to look through
my looking glass.
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