The cold, hard rain:
the wind,
the leafless trees,
the puddles turned
to pools,
the sound of it
beating
off
the
gutter:
the muted green
and brown,
the tail lights,
stop lights,
Christmas
lights
the only light
that keeps us going,
this time
of year.

Categories: poetry

Tags: Brendan Behan, pacific northwest, poem, poetry, William Pearse writer