This weather is perfect for sitting in,
With a lover,
Holding her hand,
Stroking her hair, yearning for no other
That weather was wonderful for making love in.
With a lover,
Holding her closely as the pair became one.
Glaring intensely into his darker then mahogany eyes.
His weather was astounding to walk along side the shore with,
Every individual ray of sunlight,
Incandescently gleaming upon her sun kissed skin.
How she yearned the never returning night.
Tonight’s weather was typical of the feelings inside.
Rain hailing, on her face, but maybe she cried?
Though now it was made obvious she could no longer hide,
Alas she had fallen to a coil of meaningless lies.
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Comments about this poem (Weather by jay ... )
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
Edna St. Vincent Millay
(22 February 1892 – 19 October 1950)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(c. 600 BCE)
(27 October 1914 – 9 November 1953)
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