The Weather Man Poem by Max D. Hornbogen
The Weather Man
Well skies seem clear and lake shore is calm, but the tress seem to sway in the wind just a little. Tress are green and so are the grass, now I know that the wind is blowing them around. Nights seem still as ice, just as if you could see right through it. But nothing could penetrate the solid night. Some ideas are blowing like the wind going in every direction in my mind.
May 26th,2008
Max D. Hornbogen
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/27/2024 12:46:39 PM # 1.0.0.1119
