The Secret Is In The Weather - Poem by Morgan Phillips
Sweet rain drizzles on fields of purple Heather.
You sit, watching through your latticed casement sill.
With this kind of pure, unmarred, untainted weather,
You can skip the distasteful daily ritual of taking your pill.
Then the sky clears, leaving only a damp reminder.
You can go outside and walk the misty grounds.
“Marco! ” you hear. You know you must find her.
You start to run, while doing so; you hear all of natures sounds.
All in due time, the mist starts to clear.
You feel the Morning Star welcome you in its rays.
Thinking, pondering, it is clarity you fear.
You want to go back to the dark, where everyone else stays.
You hear her familiar feminine laughter.
You stop to see a tempting shady tree by the sea.
You are quickly reminded you must be quick to go after her.
You have to wonder, where she might happen to be.
While this game can go on for hours,
“Polo! ” you scream in a loud raspy voice.
You see a figure, but the picture soon sours.
As you run closer, you realize that only you have this choice.
A full grown woman, resorts to darting behind trees.
To escape her pursuer, her courtier, her lover in secret.
But then she falls on her knees.
And tells you a secret that must be forever kept.
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