Eleven September - Poem by Thomas Hooker
She held the clouds softly in her hands,
twisting the rain out of them,
bits of floating grief lingered,
they scattered like blown laundery,
some still clinging to the line
after years of wind and despair.
The curtain of fog that hung
for so long over her head
starts to burned off
as the sun brakes through
and a new day arrives.
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